Requiem for a Dream
by Zerbinetta
Summary: In a time of war and chaos, what hope is there of dreams being fulfilled and several lost souls making their peace with the world? The missing pages from the story of one Knight-Captain of Crossroad Keep retold. NWN2, MotB, fem!PC, pairings undecided
1. Farewells and goodbyes

**Author's**** notes**: This was written purely for my own satisfaction, as I have found little of it in the in-game relationships between characters in Neverwinter Nights 2, a wonderful game otherwise that I recommend to anyone who enjoys RPGs at least a little. You can't have everything, I suppose, especially with that mean old Ancient Evil Thingy out to get you at every corner, even as you crawl through dungeons and help old ladies with their lost cats along the way. No promises for updates, as this is mostly an experiment, but I have several chapters planned out. I intend to focus more on my other stories, but really, the inspiration is just impossible to contain.

All ownership of NWNII and MotB , their plots and characters is hereby disclaimed. All that could be considered mine is the behind-kicking PC, whose personality definitely belongs to me.

X X X

**Farewells and goodbyes**

X X X X X

Hope is like the sun, which, as we journey toward it, casts the shadow of our burden behind us.

Samuel Smiles

X X X X X

Pain.

Crimson as the sunset, sharp as steel.

Something delving into her flesh, causing her to scream. But before that, the image of what appeared to be a village. A village that could have been peaceful, tranquil, even, if the day was different, if no harm had come to it… if destiny hadn't chosen it to be the setting for a grand adventure that was to take place many years later.

Someone was clutching her, but it was a gentle grip, meant to shield her from harm. A lady with kind eyes but a sharpness to her features was holding her, protecting her. And next to the golden-haired lady was another, with similarly pointed ears, trying to find them a safe path away. But there were ugly creatures surrounding them and none of her defenders could as much as move without clashing blade against claw, head-on.

Arrows flying, blades clashing… but she saw something else, something beyond them all. A powerful figure that seemed to be made of shadow, shrouded in darkness, battling a smaller, cloaked opponent, who wielded the most peculiar sword. It seemed like materialized thunder, tangible lightning. Power radiated from it, from hilt to tip, power that even a creature as insignificant as she was could feel. But a different kind of strength and power radiated from the shadow, which beat away the sword and its wielder brutally.

She didn't like that. It was frightening, terrifying. And the kind lady holding her raised a sword of her own to beat away a mutilated creature, but she herself was wounded… and she was crying for the kind lady, for all the suffering. She wanted it to stop.

Of the cloaked figure, she saw little, save for two determined eyes beneath its dark cloak. And then, the pain came.

No, the flash of light came before that. Time stopped momentarily and the two duelists launched at each other in one final spectacular attack. Their weapons almost seemed to shriek as they hit. Again, the sobs, the crying, erupted from her throat – and the cloaked figure seemed to falter, if only for a second.

There was a flash of light… and a thousand daggers digging into her very soul as darkness engulfed her, as someone screamed her name and threw themselves before her, into the path of the weapon.

The dream ended as it began; in pain. It always ended thusly. She never saw what happened to the cloaked figure, to the shadow or the two ladies who had striven so hard to protect her from any kind of harm.

Neliel opened her eyes somewhat lazily, blinking to make certain she was really awake. Slowly, she sat up in her bed, glancing out of the window. It was not yet dawn; no matter, for she was a light sleeper, in any case, and her father would no doubt be up already. But the dream… the dream she had been having for at least a month now, continued to haunt her.

She was unused to this and distinctly didn't like it, she decided. Dreams like this, dreams that seemed to be weaved from threads of reality, were unnerving to her. She got up from her bed, brushing her hair and dressing herself in her plum-colored robes. A small dark creature that had been hanging upside-down on her lamp opened one large eye upon sensing the movement in the room, giving its voice a workout as it gave a slight shriek instead of a greeting.

The sun elf didn't bother telling her familiar to be quiet. Daeghun was likely long since up and gone already and aside from him, she was the only resident of the Farlong household. "Morning, Zelas." she said to the bat instead, getting another small shriek in response. Neliel had never really understood how come nocturnal creatures could be awake during the day and sleep at night, but she supposed that was one of the perks of being a familiar, a creature created by her own arcane energy.

Her room was plain and almost neat, save for the scrolls and papers that covered most surfaces. On one such paper-covered surface was a clean steel sword that seemed to glow with a faint blue light and give off a soft hum, like a distant beehive. Next to it was a bone wand and a pair of enchanted rings. Otherwise, there was nothing too special about her residence, just as there wouldn't have been anything special about Neliel herself, if not for her heritage.

"Nell the Orphan", as the Mossfelds would taunt when they were children, the only resident of West Harbor who was not at least partly a human, who always had to stand out, with her "loony dreams". It had been a blessing from the gods that Tarmas had chosen to settle in their village and start teaching a few of the children magic. Nell's previous experiences with her own power had mainly involved setting things on fire and calming enraged animals. Now, she could do it consciously, though the former, she tried not to, unless asked to.

Save for the three idiots that were brothers, there was no one in the village who had anything against her… but most agreed that she had read one book too many, with her wish to be a great witch one day. Certainly, Tarmas taught some apprentices some basic tricks, but most villagers viewed it only as entertainment for fairs. There were other things that needed attention; the farms, the fields, real life. Surviving on the Mere of Dead Men was not easy, but the Harbormen were not renowned for their toughness for nothing.

And today, the day of the Harvest Fair, was a day for proving that.

Like every day, Nell took care of her chores before the sun even rose above the horizon. The house was empty, but if there was one thing the sun elf had learned from living with a half-elven ranger for a foster father, it was that this was not a strange occurrence. Her arcane powers were being underused in this environment, but she didn't complain. The village was her whole life, even if she didn't fully fit in. her two closest friends were her whole world and her father… well, she loved him, because she needed someone to love as a parent. Even if they had their differences; even if there was a wall of ice between them, not entirely only from his side.

Fate had chosen that she should be a farmer. So be it.

"So many years ago, today…" Nell put the broom aside; that meant releasing it from her magical grip – practicing conjuring up Bigby's Hands was very useful for housework, even if the Hands were a bit misused in this case – and brushed off the dust from her robes. Strange… her father was home, gazing at the fireplace.

And, perhaps it was a trick of the firelight, but there seemed to be sadness in his eyes.

"Your father, sad?" Bevil almost snorted when she told the tale a few hours later. They were celebrating; the three of them had finally won the Harvest Cup, the greatest honor that any child from the village could aspire to. Moreover, they had succeeded in knocking down those arrogant Mossfelds. "Sorry if I find that a bit hard to imagine, Nell."

"I wouldn't worry about it too much." Amie added good-naturedly, patting the elf's arm. "I mean, whatever he was talking about must have happened before you were born, even, and your father has always been the loner type. Besides, if anything was wrong, I bet he'd tell Georg. So take it easy."

"It just struck me as strange." Nell muttered, still imagining the moment.

The year itself was said to be odd. Movements along the Mere, whispers of undead leaving their graves… strange things, as anyone in the village would say. The innkeeper poured them some harvest mead, but gave Amie a pointed look, causing her to look down with a blush. Her two friends laughed almost simultaneously, remembering last year's "other talent show" with a certain fondness. The tavern was full that night, even children running around. The year was turning out to be a difficult one, but tonight was a night of celebrating, even if the gods themselves were against it.

"Neliel." Heads turned immediately – the gods apparently saw divine intervention suitable, for the unthinkable had happened – as Daeghun Farlong approached his foster daughter without as much as a glance at anyone else. fortunately, everyone else was far too busy celebrating or drinking to notice, but Amie raised her eyebrows before hiding her giggles at Bevil's stupefied expression behind her hand. The ranger gave them both a curt nod instead of a greeting, but even that was a great deal, coming from him.

"Father, I did not expect to see you here." Nell said truthfully once she recovered from the shock. Her father, in the tavern. The world had to be coming to an end. A flicker of anxiety passed through her, because it likely meant that her celebration was over.

"We should speak." After all those years, it was not in the least bit surprising that with that, he turned around and strolled out of the building without a backward glance. Nell felt her friends' eyes on her, but she only took a deep breath and pushed herself off her stool and followed. Coldness was something she could tolerate, but not accept. Still, she had gotten used to it and knew what which gesture meant when it came to her "father".

Contrary to simply stopping outside of the building, a walk in the moonlight was necessary, though Nell knew it wasn't because of any kind of dramatics. Drama and her father simply didn't mesh well. she had seen that look in his eyes before, though, always signifying that what he had to say was of importance. Even if that were not the case, she would have not disobeyed the summons. Her curiosity had been peaked; it was highly unusual for her father to be the one to start a conversation with her.

"I hear that you have outdone yourself today at the fair." Daeghun said without any kind of pretext once they had drifted far away from earshot of the inn. "Tarmas spoke of you after the competition."

Those were not compliments; those were facts. Neliel didn't thank for them. "Did he?" she asked with mild interest. Her spell hadn't been nearly as flashy as Amie's enlargement and summoning, but she rather thought her skills with fire had improved – and her Magic Missile number had increased as well. Hopefully, Tarmas hadn't been his usual cynical self when speaking of her.

"He quite plainly said that only a fool wouldn't send you to the nearest arcane academy before the season ends." His voice was devoid of pride – Nell knew that he had never been too enthusiastic about her learning the Art, though to be honest, Daeghun didn't show much enthusiasm for everything. But of this, he seemed to disapprove for some reason. Only one of the many disagreements between them.

"And what did you say?" she asked carefully, dreading the answer a bit.

Daeghun did not disappoint and his frown seemed to deepen when he saw right through that barely concealed excitement. "That I find you too young for such a journey." His voice was flatter than before, Nell noticed with a sinking feeling. He was not happy with her outlook on the situation. "Humans do not think in perspective; you are not one of them."

"But I've won the Cup!" It was pointless to argue; the battle was lost before it had even begun, but that was beside the point. There was only one thing that Neliel loved beyond anything, perhaps even beyond her friends (though she knew it was selfishness), and that was magic. West Harbor, though precious to her, offered no higher education for mages. The schools that practiced the arcane arts were to be found only in large cities – Waterdeep, Neverwinter, Baldur's Gate… all of those seemed an eternity away. "I can handle myself, father." Her voice sounded convincing to her. She truly believed that. "And with Amie and Bevil…"

"Your ambitions do not mirror theirs." Daeghun cut in, dismissing her feeble arguments before even acknowledging them. "Their horizon does not extend beyond the borders of this village."

"And mine?" Nell demanded. Her voice was shaking with suppressed frustration. They had had this discussion before, once, and the outcome had been just the same. But Neliel could admit that back then, she had been wrong; she hadn't been ready. Now, however, things were different. There was nothing else to accomplish in West Harbor, nothing but years and years of monotony… "This village means a lot to me, too. What difference is there?"

"You are being unusually impertinent tonight, Neliel." His tone never changed, but it was obvious that the sun elf had crossed some invisible line between acceptable and unacceptable. "You are letting one insignificant victory cloud your mind with delusions of grandeur."

_Insignificant…_Everything she did was insignificant. All her life, she had attempted to belong, to prove herself, to win praise from her father. That had ended a few years ago, leaving only bitterness between them. "Why must it be that whenever we speak, we fight?" she asked wearily. Fighting was tiring, when words would not move him and logic would not appeal to him.

Daeghun took no note of that. "You have merely proven my point. You are not ready to leave West Harbor yet."

"Will I ever be?" The ranger stopped in his tracks, turning back as if to size the girl up, though it was only a glance.

"Do not concern yourself with the future. However, I expect you to master that weapon you keep locked up in your room before we speak of this again."

"Was it really my mother's?" This time, Daeghun didn't turn around.

"The past is of no consequence, either."

Neliel stood there long after he vanished into the evening sunset, pondering that. She had no mother. She had no father, only a guardian. What did she have, besides magic? A sword that was supposed to be an heirloom from her mother, a bat familiar that she doted on, two friends who were more simple-minded than her, as she had discovered with the passing of the years… and dreams. Hopes, perhaps.

Night fell. The celebrations ended, but Nell felt rather as if they had lost terribly. The Harvest Cup remained in her possession, along with the cloak she had won thanks to completing all four tasks. Neither items were worth much more than their coin in sentimental value, but it was a start. Even Cormick had begun like this, right?

Zelas, her familiar, gave a slight shriek again. Neliel didn't bother with undressing; as an elf, the amount of sleep she required was gradually decreasing with the years. She was physically an adult now, though it would take another century until she could be considered that in mind as well. as the years would pass, the West Harbor she loved would fade around her, giving room to new people, new faces… the world would change.

As would she.

She dreamt of steel and shadow and power. And to that, she also woke.

It was dawn at last when the shadow crept away, but the sun was bathed in blood as it shone upon the ruins of what had once been a peaceful village. Dozens of friends, neighbors, villagers… dead. Dozens more of the enemy, slaughtered as well. all for a small bundle of silk that Neliel carefully put into her pack, with more care than if it were a crate of volatile blastglobes. The piece of silver glowed with a ghostly light from within whenever she came near, almost like a piece of bone.

Along with it, only few items were packed; a golden chalice that had been blessed with the power of Lathander, the god their resident priest worshipped, food and water for a few days of traveling, coin enough to secure a few more, a bedroll and, most precious of all, a box of alchemical ingredients, along with a book of spells that Neliel refused to leave behind, though others would have considered it unnecessary weigh. All of that was covered by a set of robes, the very same she had worn before.

The sun elf herself bore a likeness to a ranger from the depths of the wilderness now than a mage, as she wore leather armor that usually remained stuffed in her closet, unless she was practicing her archery. The Singing Sword hung at her hip, along with a wand or two tucked behind her belt.

She was leaving death behind her, only to go face it again, that she was certain.

"So… this is farewell, then?" she asked quietly. It seemed unreal that hours ago, she was begging to be able to leave for a large city and now, she was fleeing her home for one of the largest and most famous entirely against her will, on a different quest.

"Perhaps when we meet again, we will gain an understanding of each other." Daeghun replied sternly. He paid no heed to Amie's death or the loss of so many. He had seen such things before; this time, it couldn't destroy him, as it had done before. "You have enough gold and supplies to make it to Fort Locke. From there, the journey to Highcliff should be easier." Not easy. Only easier. Beings from other planes at her heels, an ancient mystery in her hands, he was certain nothing would be easy for Neliel from this moment on.

The sun elf nodded, her eyes downcast. Even in this final moment, there was no kindness in her father. So be it, then. She would pay with the same coin. "I remember your lessons, father."

"Heed them, then, Neliel Imladris." Nell couldn't help but glance up at the address. Was that… her name? She had never been told her last name; her mother's last name. or any name for her mother, anyway. She had always gone with the Farlong family name, even though she knew she didn't belong to that family. "And then, perhaps this will only be goodbye."


	2. Tempest

Surprisingly, the ficlet is updated, because I have it planned out!

I've decided to make most chapters character-POV-ones, not only from the PC's POV, even at places where you wouldn't expect it! Yay for creativity.

X X X

**Tempest**

X X X X X

Contrary to what tales might have claimed later on, it was thoroughly unremarkable night when the future "hero of Neverwinter", etcetera, etcetera, first set foot in the city itself.

Neverwinter was a gloomy place to live in that year and the downpour that came along with the travelers was neither encouraging nor welcome. But it wasn't even a tempest that would properly foreshadow the events to come. It was just another day to survive, just another day to forget.

Days weren't much livelier at the Sunken Flagon, where Bishop usually stayed when the winds brought him back to the city. The tavern wasn't as seedy as most, but it still was the closest thing to Hells in his eyes. Had it not been for the decent drinks Duncan provided, he would have likely preferred the streets, though it was a close call nonetheless. This place resembled a cage to which the leash of his debt was binding him – something he didn't quite understand himself. He wasn't one to think much about honor or morality – those things weren't for those that wanted to survive, so certainly not for him – but once or twice during the years, he wondered just why in Hells he was bothering with waiting for the moment when Duncan would collect on that thrice-damned debt of his.

Honor? A given word?

Yeah, right. Just thinking about that almost made him want to shoot himself. Almost. Life, dull as it was at times, was still something that belonged to him alone and he refused to kill himself _because_ of _Duncan_. That he had to live because of him was wrong enough.

The door of the in swung open; he noticed only because of the way the wind slammed the wooden surface against the walls and the swift rush cold air. Even that moment was sufficient to count four figures entering, only one sensible enough to have a hooded cloak and covering their face. The others, of course, were soaked to the skin.

A female voice began talking to Duncan, which was not nearly interesting enough to peak his interest, but two sentences were enough to change that: "I'm his niece. I'm related."

Duncan having a niece?

Almost unwillingly, the ranger looked away from his drink and at the woman chatting with Duncan. It was the cloaked one, who had dropped her hood. By chance, Duncan had his back turned in his direction, so Bishop got a good glimpse of her. The most obvious thing was that save for the pointed ears, there was absolutely no resemblance between her and the innkeeper – which was good for her, really. Slightly arrogant expression, high-and-mighty posture, a heavy bag clearly filled with books or some such rubbish; a spellcaster if he ever saw one. Straw-colored hair, green eyes – now that was interesting, admittedly, because you didn't catch glimpse of a sun elf at every corner of Faerun these days.

Otherwise, unremarkable. But the traveling circus behind her was enough to almost cause a commotion in the tavern, though everyone present was already mostly drunk. The dwarf immediately joined in the drinking. The other elf woman, dressed in clothes that seemed to be ready to fall apart, seemed thoroughly uneasy. The last of them, a woman with obvious demonic heritage, seemed right at home in the tavern.

His assumptions about the niece proved correct without fault when they came to the topic of magic. A hedge wizard he knew only by sight came and then went, there was some conversation about shards of something or another, but after the useless talk, Duncan literally pulled the girl to a table and decided to catch up on a lifetime without his niece – for some freakish reason, he seemed to have had no idea that she existed five minutes before that.

The whole family was obviously in need of a few well-aimed arrows.

"Well, then, sit down, lass, sit down!" Duncan waved his hand jovially, motioning to a chair she was to pull up. "We've got a lot of catching up to do here! Now, what can I get you? Only the best for my niece!"

"Some wine would be nice, I guess." The girl said with a light shrug, obviously overwhelmed by the openly warm approach of a relative who knew nothing about her.

"You heard the lady, Sal, you lazy bum!" the half-elf hollered at the bartender, who was, admittedly, very slow. "Now, Neliel," When Duncan spoke the name, Bishop was actually able to make it out even in the loud tavern. "or Nell, is it? Haven't seen you since you were that big." To demonstrate, he measured a very small distance from the ground with his palm.

"Neliel… but everyone calls me Nell. Except for father, that is." From that moment on, it was clear that this woman wouldn't be his type, even if she wasn't Duncan's niece. The hint of humbleness and modesty Bishop saw was enough to confirm that; but there was some degree of pretense behind it, even if Duncan didn't see it in his euphoria. Neliel clearly wasn't as comfortable in the inn as she tried to pretend she was. certainly not nearly as comfortable as she had been when she had had a chance to discuss magic with the moon elf.

Duncan nodded. "Aye, my brother is hardly one for pet names. But I suppose old elven names have a charm to them. Now, tell me about yourself, Nell. Anything and everything." Perhaps this was the reason why he welcomed the woman with open arms; to break the monotony, to have an air of mystery renewed in his inn. Well, it would certainly help to have a tavern wench around; heads turned not only because of the odd motley crew, but also because of the exotic appearance of the elven sorceress.

"Well, I'm… I'm a bit overwhelmed." That much was obvious – not even her acting could conceal her surprise at a warm-hearted reception. She wasn't naïve enough to believe in such things, it seemed. "And I deeply regret that I had no idea you existed a few weeks ago. Father never spoke of you… or of any relatives, really."

"You've known him long enough to know that he's like that. Sometimes I think he enjoys being the lonely martyr, though."

"Martyr?" Neliel's eyebrows rose, but it was part of another act; she had asked something similar before and now was trying to wheedle information out of the innkeeper while he was in such high spirits. Almost praiseworthy, really.

"Well, Daeghun lost his wife and your mother, which were both hard blows. It's never easy to say goodbye to comrades in arms and friends." Ah, adopted. The girl had had a truly misfortunate childhood, then.

"Do you know a lot about my mother?"

Almost, but not quite. Something in her body language betrayed her – though admittedly, it was pleasing to observe the curves beneath her armor, carefully concealed though they were - and the question was too direct. Not even Duncan was that gullible. "I knew Esmerelle well enough, but don't try being sneaky with me, lass. I told you it isn't my story to tell. And none of those spells for bewitching people you wizards use!"

"Damn." She laughed a bit, a pure, melodic sound. Just listening to it was sickening. "And here I thought I was being charming enough."

"Far more so than I would expect after a childhood in a swamp I remember the Mere from years ago. Not for the faint-hearted." So _that_ was the faint smell familiar to him that he had sensed from the girl. He thought he had heard the wizard say something of the sort, but now, hearing it plainly, he had to admit that it was the truth. A wizard from the Mere of Dead Men. One that was related to Duncan –though how in the world, he had no idea. Certainly this was the most interesting thing to enter the Sunken Flagon in years. "Speaking of which, your wood elf friend seems to hail from the Mere as well."

"Elanee's a druidess of the Mere." Cue look at the ragged elf. Well, she_ could_ have been pretty, save for all the dirt on her, but there were perks. Bishop's keen eyes could clearly discern the places where she hadn't fastened her robe properly. Apparently, druids really were "children of nature" in _every_ conceivable way. "There's been trouble there recently, not only because of the shard."

"Odd business, that." Duncan seemed to frown, because his voice always betrayed his expression. Of course, everyone in Neverwinter knew about the odd murder. It was the talk of the town – Bishop didn't care. It actually brought him some degree of satisfaction, because it was like knocking down two birds with one stone. Not only was some annoying noble dead, but this Neliel, this niece of Duncan's, thus had no way of doing what she had apparently traveled for weeks to do. "And it had to happen at the worst time, too, with the district closed and all that."

"Don't worry. I'm just glad to have a roof over my head for a change." Some degree of honesty was in her words. And if she really was from the Mere, then the seedy little inn had to seem like Nasher's palace to her.

"It takes time getting used to the open air." Duncan said blithely, as if he assumed that his niece would be able to handle anything and everything. "You'll need some clean clothes, I'll wager, and some real rest."

The mental image of the elf girl in the clothing Duncan's meager funds could supply was a bit tempting, but it was obvious that she'd wrinkle her nose at such garb, peasant or not. Elves of any kind simply had that in-born arrogance in them that prevented them from appreciating practical clothing for its uses – except for swamp druids, it seemed. "I bought a spare robe at Fort Locke, but I'd appreciate getting my armor washed. I probably look like a hermit wizard, don't I?" Yes, there it was – the defeated expression. Vanity. Not much… but there.

"No more than the rest of the docks. Neverwinter ain't as much of a pure gem as the bards would have you believe. But you'll see yourself in the morning. Besides, compared to Sand, I'd guess you re a court wizard!"

And, of course, compliments were the way to get into the good books of any woman – or under her skirts, but that wasn't the case with this one. "I was kind of hoping to see Cloaktower and the mage's academy during my first visit to Neverwinter, but this will do for now." That was more down-to-earth than he had expected. Perhaps all elves should move to swamps and have their egos get a solid beating. It seemed to do some good to this one.

"Well, the docks don't see too much of the arcane, except for Sand, of course, not that the little viper's much help with restoring order."

"Still, he seemed capable, once you got past his ego." Neliel noted, obviously recalling the image of the moon elf's sharp face and sharper tongue.

The innkeeper shook his head once more. "I'm letting that slide because you don't know what kind of vermin you can come across round here. you're just getting swayed by two-edged flattery. Be mindful of fair-weather charms in the city, Nell."

"I'll remember that." For the first time during the whole conversation, she seemed to notice that they were being observed and her eyes slowly traveled the room before resting on him. Neither of them gave any change of expression – there was just the single moment when their eyes met, like two clashing blades. Danger, the sound of the weapons vibrated. Both felt it. And then, Neliel looked back at her uncle and grinned like a little girl. "But hey, maybe it's just nice to meet a wizard who isn't out to kill me. I'll stop by that shop of his sometime. I need a few spare wands and my ingredients will run out soon enough."

"Just remember what I told you about not paying in advance. If he tries any merchant tricks on you, tell me and I'll set him straight." Duncan warned, blissfully oblivious to what had happened a second before that. and it was for the best – Bishop really wasn't in the mood to listen to the innkeeper spawn some rubbish about keeping away from his niece, which, if he had seen them look at each other, even for a second, would have been inevitable but unnecessary.

Anything connected to Duncan could inspire only hatred in the ranger, even his niece, who had the potential for inspiring lust and contempt both.

"I know how to toss fireballs, no worries, uncle." An archetypical mage – overconfident and arrogant, but clearly a goodie-two-shoes on the outside. Still, she _was_ the best thing to look at in the room, unless you had a fetish for dirt-covered druidesses. Which, mercifully, he didn't.

"Very well, lass. Now, come on!" With a bit of force, Duncan got to his feet. Apparently, the initial interrogation was over and he finally understood that the Mere was really quite far from Neverwinter, thus the journey must have been very long and, judging by Neliel's clothing and the faint bloodstains on her sword, not entirely a field trip. "Daeghun would take my ears as a trophy if he found out that I didn't show a guest and kin at that a room!"

"Uncle, I'm sorry to be imposing on you like this…" She was saying it because she felt the need to say it, felt guilty not saying it, not because she actually meant it – she wasn't sorry, at least, not as sorry as she would have wanted to be.

But Duncan waved it all away without a second thought. The discovery of his niece brought him clear joy, which was a very good reason for hatred for the woman. "Nonsense, Nell, nonsense! You're more than welcome here – you and your friends:"

"I'll say!" The tiefling woman appeared nearby; apparently, she had also eavesdropped on the conversation. "It sure is nice to be back in Neverwinter with a fire to return to."

"Just keep your hands to yourself, tiefling, and we'll be fine." The dwarf retorted while taking hold of another keg.

Those two obviously didn't get alone well, which, considering the tiefling's shrill and annoying voice and the dwarf's bravado, was easy to understand. Both had the air of honest idiots around them, though they were probably good in a fight, if no one else was around. Bishop really couldn't imagine another reason why Neliel would keep them around other than that she didn't wasn't to dirty her hands with swordwork. But her own sword clearly didn't lack use, either.

"Looks like height isn't the only thing you're short of, Khelgar. I don't bite the hand that feeds me. I'm not stupid enough to…"

"What I meant to say was that I'm willing to help out or at least give you a coin or two once in a while." The words came out of her with obvious difficulty. "For everything."

"I wouldn't be having my own kin paying to stay with family! No, no, lass, keep yer gold. I wager you'll be needing it soon enough. Besides, making the docks a safer place is just payment in my eyes. Besides, a future Cloaktower mage has no call to play a tavern wench!"

The thought of the mage with her hair down, in a low-cut dress, a rag in her hand and plates of food in the other, was ridiculous – thus amusing – but also tempting, in a way, a sweetness that was enhanced by the fact that it would certainly be to her own humiliation. It was not to be, clearly, but it was an entertaining fantasy.

In the hour or so she had been in the in, the little mage had managed to entertain by simply being there and talking, which was saying something. If nothing else, Bishop decided to keep an eye on her. as long as she remained entertaining, she would live. Because a wonderful plan was forming itself in his head, involving the complete repaying of his debt to Duncan – a death for a death that should have been. Killing Duncan would never have been satisfying, because then, the innkeeper would have eternal piece.

Killing Neliel… killing a woman Duncan was obviously attached to immediately… that was an idea. That was a plan.

But before that, he intended to let her run rampant and do whatever she had come to do. If she remained interesting, he would be able to wait. Besides, there could be no greater blow to Duncan and his conscience if he managed to bed the proud she-elf in the process – which also wasn't an idea not worth considering. After all, even filth could shine for a moment.

"Perhaps." This time, Bishop wasn't looking at her, but he felt that for the briefest second, against her will, perhaps or out of simple caution, Neliel's eyes strayed back to him. "Goodnight, uncle."

_Run, prey. Run and hide and struggle. But I will find you._

A precious trophy that would be a means to an end. Prey. Hunter.

One day, he would stand over her corpse with satisfaction.

"Aye, goodnight, Nell."

Not in his wildest dreams did he expect that months later, in a faraway citadel of stone, it would be her image haunting and hunting him. And that eventually, he would lose the will to run.


	3. Hero

X X X

**Hero**

X X X X X

If there ever was a sharp awakening to the fact that your life had changed against your will, permanently and irreversibly, it was the one Shandra Jerro experienced in the last months of her short life. First, her barn and livelihood had been burned to the ground. Then, her house had followed, because of some pursuit of things that were beyond her – strange people from different planes, silver things and, above all, the main link in the form of an elven witch and her band of companions.

Shandra hadn't counted with the possibility that something could be more stressful than getting kidnapped by a bunch of githyanki sword stalkers that wanted to tear her brain into jelly for information it didn't contain, but she had to admit that the journey back to Neverwinter was slowly beginning to get close to that. It wasn't that she felt uncomfortable – not more than natural, of course – but because she wasn't able to make too much sense of things just yet.

She kept away from the others most of the time, even during the day when they traveled on foot. The journey would take three to four days, assuming they didn't run all the time. that they had managed to find and rescue her in two days was a wonder, especially considering the fact that there were others in the group now as well, not only those she had become unwillingly acquainted with during the two times they had visited her farm.

As they hadn't accounted much for supplies for the journey – let alone for the return journey – they had to stop for hours at a time at a particular save spot. Those were awkward hours during which Shandra would simply stare into the fire. She didn't feel entirely at ease around the rest of the group, though she didn't let it show too much – especially when Neliel was gone. Shandra wouldn't have even guessed that the elf was a student of the arcane if she hadn't seen her send a storm of missiles from her fingertips towards Zeearie the moment her portal had collapsed.

It was surprising because when hearing tales about mages, Shandra had always pictured them to be somewhat like Qara – dressed in fine clothes, a condescending smile on their faces, staying out of the battle until the grand finale. If she was to judge by first impressions, she would likely had labeled the elf a ranger, though her leather armor was cleaner than Bishop's and mercifully free of the smell – of what, Shandra didn't dare imagine.

On their way out of the githyanki lair, Nell had also picked up a bow and a set of arrows, to help hunt for some food on the journey. It turned out that she was able to use the weapon effortlessly, as all elves seemed to, even though she always wielded a sword in battle. And so, during the breaks in their journey, she, Elanee and Bishop would take off into the wild, though always in opposite directions – which had almost wiped the leer off Bishop's face when Nell said that she would go hunting as well. and Elanee, who knew the wilds well, offered to gather herbs, at least, to go with the meat, because she was still as opposed as ever to killing animals, though she grudgingly accepted it as a necessity.

Shandra felt like a burden at times; like luggage that was being recovered.

"Shandra, why the long face?" Looking up from the ground, she saw the familiar face of Grobnar about ten inches from her own, studying her with curiosity. But it was Grobnar; nothing to worry about. Besides the shock, of course. "I know! It's too gloomy here! I'll sing you a song!" And without waiting for permission, he struck up his lute and began playing that annoying song about that herb that gave people the runs – she could never quite remember its name.

"I think my ears are bleeding." Qara commented in the middle of the chorus, her nose stuck high in the air, as always, and she demonstrated her displeasure by standing up away from the fire and dusting her robe in an annoyed manner. Then, as Grobnar didn't get the message and she had long since judged him too insane to take her threats of incineration seriously, she stalked away from the fire and went to light her own, which clearly turned into a bonfire a moment later; she had managed to burn down an entire bush. Fortunately, they were close to a stream of water and she and Neeshka had skill in putting out fires swiftly by now.

"Geez, princess, if you like flames that much, set yourself on fire and spare us the trouble of doing this every time." the tiefling huffed as she returned to the fireplace.

The eyes of sorceress narrowed in scorn. "I'll have to practice on you first, tail-for-brains. I wouldn't want to waste my skills."

But the longer she studied their interactions, the more Shandra was convinced that, clothing aside, violent displays of power aside, Nell was more of a mage than Qara, or at least fit the more conventional image of a mage that the masses were familiar with.

Elanee always returned last from their searches for food, obviously enamored with the nature around them, by which time whatever the two others might have brought was roasting over the fire. Then, Shandra would retire to her bedroll, recovering from the terrible kidnapping – actually, it was Nell's bedroll, which the elf had been gracious enough to offer her before Shandra could allow herself to be angered by Bishop's more lewd suggestions concerning that problem.

When she had expressed worry that Nell wouldn't have where to sleep, she had received laughter in response; genuine, merry, the first sound of merriment Shandra had heard from anyone in quite a long time. And she wasn't the only one. It was most ironic that Neliel seemed to be completely ignorant of the two pairs of eyes watching her with greater intensity than the others, and perhaps a bit longer. To Shandra, it felt painfully obvious, especially since she was standing close to the elf and felt almost as if the two men were staring at her.

It was like standing naked in a storm, but Nell paid it no heed. That was admirable, in Shandra's books, because if she was the prime target of the day for the not-so-vague-or-subtle snide comments courtesy of apparently everyone's favorite ranger, then the sun elf was a close second. Moreover, there was an almost unnoticeable difference between the way he spoke to Neliel, though the content was not remarkable or unpredictable. Shandra was certain that even he himself didn't notice the hint of seriousness in his own baiting.

And then there was the paladin, who said hardly anything, but wasn't as apt at concealing emotions.

If it didn't feel like being crushed between two boulders even to a mere spectator, Shandra would have likely found it a bit funny, but worthy of pity. But then again, it wasn't, because Nell hardly seemed interested in either of them beyond trading jabs. In fact, the only thing she seemed to love was magic, and whenever Shandra would wake during the long hours of the night, she would see a tiny light in a tree high above and she could just about make out Neliel, her right hand gently gripping a book, a drastically toned down fireball hovering in her left palm, her face gentler than when speaking to a living person.

And during the journey, if she wasn't ahead of the whole group, parrying Bishop's verbal jabs, she was chattering away with Elanee, of all people. Shandra attributed it only to the fact that the druidess was also an elf and so gave Nell the opportunity to use her native tongue. Otherwise, there were very few similarities between the two elven women, possibly only that Nell liked nature (though she said herself that she preferred to have a roof over her head any day).

"Keep up, lass." Khelgar nudged her in the back when she zoned out during one of their treks. They had passed Ember by, where the bodies of dead githyanki still remained and would soon be back in Neverwinter. Still Shandra couldn't answer a simple question she posed to herself.

Why did they all follow Nell? With her, the answer was clear; as for the others, it was even clearer. Moths were always drawn to a flame, even against their will, even if they denied it. And the mage was a bright beam of light, even in her moments of gloomy darkness. So perhaps staying wasn't actually a bad idea.

Neverwinter was an overwhelming sight to someone who had lived on the borders of a small village for most of her life and Shandra was no exception. It was large, dirty and filled with walls, but it was somehow glorious, even though it seemed to be a ruin, even in spirit, in places. It was somehow heart-warming to enter the Sunken Flagon, though she wasn't a regular at the inn in Highcliff. Every farmer had need for a drink once in a while during the crisis back there with the lizardmen.

Finally, part of the mystery of the githyanki pursuit had been revealed, though Duncan – Nelie's uncle, though they didn't resemble each other at all – only explained in further detail what they had heard from their dying enemy, the gith leader.

Afterwards, as all heroes once their mission was accomplished, the group sat down at the tables, drinking, talking, or, in Neliel´s case, simply staring into space. Then, the elf stood up from her seat – which caused all eyes to turn back to her – and announced that she was going to retire to her room, even though it was almost dawn outside.

"Duncan, could you please get me at least a bucket of water into my room? I'd like to wash a bit:" After their journey, it was understandable, and particularly Shandra felt that she understood why the elf had not even stopped to consider the possibility of bathing during their pursuit. When she looked at her old clothes, she realized that they, too, were a bit torn and seemed a lot more worn than they had been. They were certainly dirtier than before.

"Sure thing, Nell. If your clothes need washing just dump them into the basket in your room and I'll get them fixed for you."

Nell shook her blonde head. "No, I think I need to have a break from armor. And I might need a new set anyway." Shandra wasn't the only one to size the she-elf up at that moment and she realized just then that Nell's armor really was looking more ragged in places, though this obviously wasn't the first journey it had been through. But for a seasoned traveler – which was what Shandra considered her – Nell looked somewhat more tired than before.

"Are you all right?" she asked softly, receiving a headshake and a surprised smile in response.

"That you, of all people, would ask me that…" Shandra noticed well enough that this was commonly known as avoiding answering the question. Somewhere beyond her shoulder, she was aware that someone was watching Nell with concern – she assumed that it was Casavir and it turned out to be correct. "I'll leave you here in Duncan's care for now. I'd like to examine that old scar. Properly, for the first time."

It meant something to Nell, clearly, the scar, the shard, the fact that her own kin had kept that truth from her – even though with the best of intentions – but, most of all, there was that scholarly fire in her eyes. She wanted to know what the thing in her wound was.

"I'll gladly help you examine your chest, Neliel." Shandra almost jumped, because she hadn't noticed Bishop creep towards them, smell or not. Strangely, he almost always addressed Nell using her full name instead of the abbreviation all the others – save for Grobnar, who called her Lady Neliel – used. "And anything else that's in question. _Very_ properly." He emphasized, flashing her a leer that made Shandra sick (and it wasn't even directed at her).

But Nell, strangely, seemed to be unfazed by the general lewdness of the suggestion and interceded before Casavir could jump in to defend her honor; meaning, very quickly. "It wouldn't do me any good, because you wouldn't come to any useful conclusion, if all you can do is examine." Perhaps it was something Qara might be accused of dishing out, but Nell did it without the venom. Shandra could only marvel at her control over her own temper.

"I can do a lot more when someone owes me something." Bishop noted, and Shandra had the mental image of a growling wolf attempting to corner a fox. "You know how prices never seem to be stable… if you don't take the cheap offer…"

"You'll get _exactly _what you deserve, Bishop. I remember what I promised."

The moment Nell disappeared, it seemed that Duncan was unable to decide whether to go warn his niece about baiting the ranger or threaten the ranger to leave her alone, so he left it at that. Shandra decided to retire as well, because now that the elf was gone, from the brief glance she received, it was obvious that she had been moved to prime target status. And she hadn't had a good night's sleep in days.

In the morning, she couldn't understand how she could have thought Neliel to be anything but a wizard, when she saw the elf eating breakfast in a dark blue robe, her long straight hair (now free of the dirt and tangles) tied into a simple braid that fell down her back, a golden circlet around her head, giving her the appearance of a princess in a crown. Later on, Grobnar explained to her that usually, Red Wizards of Thay wore such circlets (which unnerved her a bit) but that she need not worry.

"Lady Neliel isn't an evil wizard, Shandra." the gnome said, playing a short melody on his lute.

"How can you be so certain?" Shandra asked, despite believing him.

"Well," Grobnar hopped onto a chair near her cheerfully. "if she was evil, she would have made good on all those threats to kill us. I mean, she threatens to kill Qara at least thrice an hour. Sometimes, she threatens to kill Neeshka if more thugs chasing her appear. At times, she mutters that she ought to kill me when I accidentally ruin our stealth. And Duncan has asked her several times to kill Khelgar, I think. Not to mention that she always tenses so whenever she gets ready to speak with Sir Bishop or Sir Casavir. My, she must have a lot of suppressed tension in her."

Shandra idly wondered exactly why she had asked the question, but at that point, a knight with sand-colored hair in a blue uniform with the Neverwinter insignia appeared… and things went from bad to worse from that moment on.

An hour or so later, she was witnessing the swiftest conversation in Elvish she was ever to hear. At first, Elanee would translate bits and pieces to the others, but then gave up on it, because Neliel and Sand, another wizard that had been given some sort of ultimatum to help them – and Shandra worked out from his uneasy admission of this and the knight's, Nevalle's, words that this had been arranged by the higher circles in the Neverwinter hierarchy – were talking so quickly, as if they wanted to share all the knowledge they possessed in one conversation.

They were talking about the magic that might have been used to arrange this farce of an accusation, Elanee summed it up later, and even as Nell asked all others to prepare for an unpleasant trip to Ember, they went to dig through books.

A week later, their investigations in the wilds near Luskan finished, Shandra was the first and only one to leave the Sunken Flagon, where the atmosphere was more than heavy, for the tiny shop almost in front of it, where Neliel and Sand were holed up for several hours each day, going though the evidence. Again, they were speaking in Elvish, but stopped as soon as Shandra knocked and, to her utter shock, both were smiling – in Sand's case, that meant a light smirk, just on the edge of visibility – as if they had already won the trial and weren't facing the gallows.

"Come in, Shandra; we're almost done with our preparations." Neliel encouraged her while Sand scribbled something on a piece of parchment in his spidery scrawl. From the very first day, it had been clear that Nell liked Sand; not in a romantic way, perhaps, but liked him for his outlook on life and shared interests with him, making her able to relate to his position in a way that she wasn't able to relate to Elanee, the other elf in their group.

Shandra, on the other hand, was dully aware of the fact that the large city had made the moon elf a tad high-nosed when faced with people who lived on the countryside, as he had demonstrated in Port Llast. She didn't dislike him – really, compared to the other men in their group, he was at least polite, even if you could never tell just how sarcastic those polite words were – but she also couldn't imagine that the two of them would ever be overly close friends.

"So, have you two figured a way to get you out of this predicament yet?" Shandra asked, leaning against the wall. She didn't want to mess up the stacks of books, papers or alchemical ingredients lying around; goodness knew that that would earn her a few very snide remarks. More than a few.

"Well, we have enough evidence to make it a solid case, so I suppose one could say that we have crossed the line of hopelessness." Sand commented wryly from his stack of notes. "However, pointing a finger at Luskan and saying that they were the ones that told on us – truly or falsely – "

"Falsely." Nell muttered resolutely.

"-could be viewed as war-mongering, which is a perfect net for Torio to capture us in." Sand concluded, glancing at the sun elf with mild amusement. "There are enough accusations to be dealt with without that."

"Yeah, but… you can do it, right?" Shandra asked hopefully, earning herself two deadpan expressions from the elves. "I mean, you're innocent." She said, turning to Nell.

"Dear Shandra, the truth of the matter is that the actual truth isn't worth a half-copper in this case." Sand answered flatly when Neliel remained silent. "Who killed who is not the issue here. The point of this trial is that the masses will want a performance; they have come to see the conclusion of a tragedy, so they can have something to gossip about for the next few boring weeks. To put it bluntly, they want to see someone _hang_."

"But you're innocent!"

Nell sighed. "That doesn't change the fact that Ember is now a dead village. Fortunately, the Luskans were very sloppy in covering up evidence of their involvement. It seems they are far too eager to see me dead."

"I concur." Sand nodded. "They have acted very carelessly, even for Luskans. It makes me wonder if they don't see you as a threat to some plot yet to be revealed that has something to do with Neverwinter. But this time, they were extremely short-sighted. It happens when bloodlust and revenge clouds your judgment, which I daresay is common for them."

It seemed that he would say more, but refrained from doing so. In any case, Nell seemed to agree with him. "So you see, it's all about the show that we make. Luckily for us, the very fact that Luskan is accusing someone who has obvious ties to the City Watch and now Sir Grayson undermines their efforts. Plus, it's _Luskan_ accusing me. Everyone in Neverwinter hates them."

"Traitors are abhorred even more."

"Gee, Sand, you know how to brighten the mood."

"Merely the truth, dear girl." And he stacked the notes in a very orderly manner, quite contrary to the mess all around them. "Now, do you remember what you are supposed to say and what I will be saying?"

A somewhat sardonic nod. "Yes, your honor."

Sand's lips thinned a bit, so that Shandra couldn't tell if he was annoyed with her or if he found that answer amusing. Either way, his next words were intended for her. "And Shandra, do dress more… representatively tomorrow." he said, referring to the peasant clothes Shandra still had, despite having received a new set of armor as a sort of "initiation into an adventurer's life" present.

The former farm girl frowned. "Why?" she, like all the others, were to attend the trial, as part of the crowd.

She received an indulgent smile in return, one that a slightly annoyed adult might give while explaining that two plus two equaled four to a particularly dimwitted child. "Because, considering your rural background, we would very much like to have your… moral support closer to us."

"He means that we would like you to sit with us during the trial." Nell translated into Common with a small grin at Shandra's "huh?" expression. "Free front-row tickets to a death seat. No refunds. Welcome to a day in the life of a hero."


	4. Viridian

X X X

**Viridian**

X X X X X

"Not that _I've_ ever had problems with first impressions, but I don't think the judges will be too convinced that you're a goodie-two-shoes if you show up at the trial like this, Nell."

It was the typical day in the life of a traveling adventurer; or so Elanee believed, having been put through far too many unpredictable situations to even bother thinking about a set-up such as this murder trial as something unusual. Strange, how in a matter of several months, the world could change and she would be stuck in a city of stone, surrounded by the unlikeliest of companions, watching as the tiefling rogue underlined her point by waving a piece of fish around, eventually pointing it at the sun elf.

They were back at the Sunken Flagon, counting hours until the trial. And drinking, if only a bit, to wake up. In a matter of hours, it would be either freedom or the gallows for one of them and so Neeshka decided that they should have at least one "girl party" or something such as that. For that, she had gathered all the women from their group, grudges and sarcasm aside, save for Qara, who was generally disliked by the others. In any case, the sorceress still hadn't managed to pay off her debt to Duncan and was wiping a nearby table with an expression that could have made the strongest acid spell attack redundant.

"What's wrong with the way I look, Neesh?" Nell scowled. Truth to be told, the answer would be: nothing. As they had finished all their investigations, her face, clothes and even her boots were clean, not to mention nearly brand-new. As a member of the nobility, she had been given a certain amount of money to attire herself correctly, which meant that nowadays, the she-elf was rarely seen without her diadem-like Thayan circlet gracing her golden hair and always remained dressed in a beautiful brown armor that was fit for an Eldritch Knight.

"While I'm sure that most of the male half of your entourage would give the same answer, she's right." Shandra added, taking a sip of her wine. Certainly, in short, there was nothing wrong with the way Neliel looked, if she wanted to look like a general leading her armies. The fact that the sword and katana that hung from her belt were more than visible did nothing to soften that.

Of course, inwardly, she was still Nell, though no one would have guessed by now that she had come from a village in the middle of a swamp. Certainly, all of the women were garbed in new clothing, some of the finest, and even Elanee's own leathers were almost untarnished, but if an outsider was to guess at who was in charge and the richest of the group, it was a pretty obvious decision.

"No fair, teaming up on me like that! Besides, look at Elanee!" The wood elf blinked in surprise as a half-scowling, half-pouting Neliel continued. "She's no court lady either and no one would accuse her of tasteless butchery!"

Elanee decided that she didn't want to know what kind of butchery could be found tasteful. But she could admit that the slaughter of an entire village was going a bit overboard. Nell's idea of carnage was thoroughly different, bloodless, even. When the words "mass slaughter" came to mind, people usually pictured organs flying around and blood being splattered, while the attacker was laughing maniacally. Now, when Nell did mass slaughter, it usually meant that a storm of ice would descend upon the unfortunate victims, by which point their heads would be misplaced by a timely strike by her blade, if the spell didn't manage to get their vital organs.

Frozen blood. How quaint. But, as Nell said, at least it didn't spill on their clothes. Death was… clean, surprisingly.

"But I am not to be subjected to a trial, Neliel." the druidess remarked smartly. She knew that she couldn't outwit the mage at a game of tossing words around, but she was sensible enough to point out a fact.

Obviously, Nell realized the truth in that, but she waved her goblet around instead, almost spilling a bit of the precious wine on their table. "Details." she noted, her voice blasé. But she herself was anything aside from that. The hours of preparation, the tension in her posture, the serious look in her eyes… usually, Neliel was just the slightest bit arrogant, but always noticing it before it got way too serious. In fact, seeing her like this was almost as intimidating and unnatural as the coldness she had displayed when hunting the githyanki. "Besides, guys, Sand and I have things under control. If it comforts you, I asked Duncan to have my best mage's robes squeaky clean for tomorrow; I won't be going in this armor."

"To be honest, that won't help much. Everyone round here knows just how much magic you've got." Neeshka deadpanned, then made a strangely theatrical and enthusiastic face. "That'd be like saying: "Hey, everybody, look! I blew up Ember with no hands!" You have to give the impression that you wouldn't be capable of even _thinking_ of doing it, let alone doing it." she insisted, her tone returning to a business-like mode. "In other words, not the Khelgar or the Qara look."

Elanee was quite certain that she had never seen Neliel blink quite as much in the span of two seconds. "You gave my… looks… names of those two?" Her tone was carefully measured, but the druidess could _feel_ the power around her. Yes, this was the Qara look.

Neeshka, though ignorant of that fact, waved her hand and wisely dismissed that discussion. "Never mind that now. The point is, you need another look. A kind of "I'm too innocent to even squash bugs accidentally-on-purpose" look."

Now that would be difficult. In fact, Elanee was almost certain that it would be impossible. She glanced at her companion, taking in her appearance and trying to imagine it from the point of an outsider. The trouble was, it wasn't that easy. She had been familiar with Neliel and her existence from the beginning of the younger elf's life; she knew all there was to know about her life, though she couldn't claim to know all about Neliel herself. But her stance, her self-confidence, her aura of quiet power… impossible. There was no way she could pass for a peasant or, better yet, someone who didn't know what a weapon felt like.

"Isn't that somewhat of an exaggeration? I don't think anyone would believe Neliel to be anything but a battlemage."

"Thanks, Elanee." Finally, Nell smiled, if only briefly and absent-mindedly. She seemed fond of her current image. Maybe it was the fact that no one seemed to comment on her Harborman scent and heritage anymore… or that she had new clothes she could call hers that remained clean for longer than a day. Elanee couldn't really understand that last sentiment. Really, what was the point of having good clothes if you were worried about their state of appearance all the time? "Besides, I won't be wasting gold on some wacko puffy dress and face paint that I'll throw out the next day."

The image of Nell in a puffy dress – of any color – was amusing, but everyone knew to take care not to laugh. They saw the hint of a death glare in her eyes and could almost _feel_ the carnage that would follow if they didn't wisely abandon that train of thought.

Silence.

No one dared to laugh.

"I could think of a few things to do with the paint, you know." Neeshka piped up, imagining drawing all sorts of things on Khelgar's face while he was asleep. Too bad his beard was so big, though.

Shandra, meanwhile, seemed to have taken up the position of the leader of operation: makeover. "We could borrow a dress from some shop on credit… or leave the money there as an insurance."

"Oh, please, Shandra, have you ever tried dealing with those crooks?" Neeshka said, rolling her eyes. Well, she was a resident of the city, or so she claimed, so Elanee decided to take her word for it. She didn't necessarily trust or like the tiefling, but she trusted her opinion and advice when it came to financial matters. It was just one of those things that was destined to remain out of the realm of her understanding. "They'll scam you till they skin you, forget about that."

"Well, what do you propose then? I'll assume you have a better idea." Shandra, being still a newcomer to their group, was as daring as ever, to ask Neeshka so directly. Well, if the tiefling felt someone was stepping on her toes, she would likely react in a not too pleasing manner, but, surprisingly, she exceeded Elanee´s expectations and grinned rather impishly.

"Glad you asked!" And then, partly because Nell was sitting next to her, partly for the grand effect, probably, she leaned over to Shandra and quickly whispered something to her in a voice that was literally struggling to hold back excitement from impending mischief. Elanee decided that she most certainly didn't like that.

Moreover, it seemed that the sensible peasant mind of Shandra Jerro had reservations about the plan as well. "I don't know, but…"

"It's the best chance we have!" Neeshka insisted, as if she was certain that this was the only plan that would work. That was not the best expression to see on a thief's face. "At least we'll get a professional's opinion on our chances!"

"A professional". Elanee was quite certain that doom was at hand.

Especially judging by the look on Nell's face.

"I'm not sure I like your grin, Neeshka." The sun elf said slowly, carefully weighing each word. She seemed to be on her toes, completely ready to draw one of her blades and defend herself against the hellish woman, if need be.

But the tiefling paid her no heed and turned to the wood elf, of all people, with a serious expression. That looked downright odd, because Neeshka, even when serious, never looked the part. Perhaps it was the horns; perhaps it was the mischief in her eyes. But she wouldn't have made a convincing politician, that was certain. "Elanee, stun her if need be. I think she'll protest."

Stun Nell? Elanee glanced at the sun elf, then at Neeshka, then at Shandra. Stun Nell? She would be vaporized before the vines could even encircle her ankles. Stun Nell? She didn't have the speed for such an incantation, even if they had given her the element of surprise. Moreover, she didn't exactly fancy the idea of fighting Nell, in a crowded restaurant and for no other reason than because _Neeshka_ said so.

So she posed the million-gold-coin question.

"Why?"

She was beginning to share Nell's opinion regarding that grin of Neeshka's, but the wood elf was downright stunned when she heard the actual suggestion. "We're going straight to Ophala's."

There was a greater silence than that before. All eyes were on Nell, who had turned surprisingly pale, though with her complexion, it simply seemed that she was a moon elf who liked hair dye potions a little too much.

Still, one had to admire the self-control with which she stopped her hands from twitching and conjuring up a Dire animal that would have doubtlessly chased Neeshka all around Neverwinter. Instead, she only unclenched her teeth, regained her posture and answered in a quiet voice that was strangely forceful.

"Two words: no way. No."

Neeshka frowned. "That's three words, Nell, so it doesn't count." She contradicted, glancing at Elanee and trying to give her a sign that _now_ would be a good time to start that Entangle spell, _if you please_. But the druidess didn't really get that hint.

She understood why Nell seemed so uneasy. Of course, they had been at the Moonstone Mask before, simply because Neeshka had been hunted and the local proprietor – Ophala, the most well-known woman in Neverwinter, save for Nell herself, perhaps – was the one to go to when one sought answers. But though it wasn't a brothel anymore, though the… entertainment… was way more civilized now, Nell had been fidgeting even then.

It made Elanee smile, because it showed just how much of an innocent child the seemingly ruthless wizard actually was. Elves reached emotional maturity at an age that was pushing a hundred and thirty years old. Nell herself wasn't even thirty yet. She was, by elven standards, a child forced to hold her own against the world. And that showed primarily in cases such as that, when she was confronted with something she still seemed to believe was out of her reach.

Also, the druidess had a sneaking suspicion that Nell was actually more terrified of appearing downright clueless when it came to face paint and dresses when she seemed to have taken it upon herself to be the knowledgeable one of the group.

What she needed was encouragement, so Elanee decided to take pity on her.

"Please, Neliel, there's no harm in just going there. We'll make sure they don't force you into anything you won't like. Please." she implored again, watching the sun elf, who seemed to resemble a cornered, frightened animal for a moment.

Were they really that bad? She hadn't even flinched when she had heard that Luskan was accusing her of murder – but Elanee knew that at night, Nell would sneak out of the in through the window and out of the city, just out to the outskirts, where no one could find her, so that she could be alone with her thoughts. The thought of Nell crying was unimaginable to anyone else… but Elanee didn't really believe that books alone could create such shadows under one's eyes.

And just for one day, as well.

Two perfectly unnatural emerald green eyes closed warily, as if a thousand years had fallen on the girl's shoulders in one moment. And then…

"I am _so_ going to regret this."

X X X X X

The Moonstone Mask was, shall we say, a place for people with a liking for privacy. No more, no less, unless you knew what you were looking for. And it seemed that Neeshka certainly knew what she was looking for. Throughout the whole journey, Shandra had kept close to Nell, saying a word or two of comfort to her. Elanee had been silent. Nell had the look of someone being led to their own execution.

Perhaps she was practicing for tomorrow, a crazier part of Elanee´s brain suggested. She smacked herself mentally. The thought of Nell being executed was not something she wished to imagine. It was simply too surreal to be true, too… unfair! Unjust!

As was all that had happened to her, all the unfortunate events that seemed to intersect in her life.

"Neeshka? And you've brought friends again, I see." Ophala was a strange one, at least to Elanee. Unlike Nell, she didn't have the kind of natural beauty to her. Instead, everything about her demeanor seemed practiced, regal, as if she had spent years to perfect her posture and her expressions to achieve her level of beauty. An artificial beauty. But a beauty nonetheless, though Elanee didn't really believe in any kind of warmth the woman displayed. At least not to her. because the first thing to be said to her when Ophala noticed was: "Ah… dear… try not to… move around too much, will you?"

The former Madame examined Elanee's outfit with a wrinkle of her perfect little nose. Well, if that much dirt and twigs was bothering her, then the druidess really would like to see her reaction to the clothing she had worn initially, when meeting Nell officially all those weeks ago at Fort Locke…

But time was of the essence and it seemed that Neeshka alone realized that. even some of the entertainers had stopped doing their job to eavesdrop on them.

"We need your help, Ophala." the tiefling said in all seriousness as she stepped forward. And, though grudgingly, Elanee had to admit that if practice could turn even plain girls as some of those she saw around into beauties in the eyes of people, then Ophala was clearly the person to see. "It's an emergency. We need to have her looking presentable in four hours."

However, the Madame wrinkled her nose again and glanced at Elanee briefly before shaking her head in an elegant manner. "I deal with wonders, not miracles, Neeshka. This would be possible in four days of intense work… maybe." she added, taking a whiff of the scent of moist wood that came from the druidess. Somehow, Elanee felt a bit pleased. Serves her right.

Though judging from Neeshka's expression, her loyalty was questionable. She seemed to be on Ophala's side on this one as she rolled her eyes. "Not her, Ophala. _Her_."

Shandra, who had been silent up till then, tried to nudge Neliel forward a bit, but it took Neeshka grabbing her hand and yanking her forward to make the elf make it past the doorstep. Ophala blinked once or twice.

"Oh. Well, that changes things." She gave Nell a warm, confident smile, the image of a queen welcoming a peasant girl who was to become her new lady-in-waiting. Or rather, who _could_ become that, if she passed some test. "Come into the light, dear, so I can see the extent of the damage." It seemed to Elanee that she was drinking up every part of Nell's visage, from top to bottom, visualizing and noticing every detail, no matter how tiny. "There… hm… turn around a bit?"

Nell was rather graceful on her feet, certainly not a klutz, but then, all elves were like that. It wasn't that she couldn't look like a lady if she wanted to. It was that she didn't see the point of it. With Nell, all was about logic.

"Do you think you could help us?" Shandra asked hopefully when Ophala circled Nell like a vulture examining a fresh carcass.

After the fourth or fifth circle, Ophala crossed her well-shaped arms. "It won't be an easy task." she proclaimed after a moment of contemplative silence.

"But you can do it, right?" Neeshka butted in. It seemed, though, that she was already ready to celebrate. "I mean, it's not hopeless."

Strangely, when Neliel glared, her eyes seemed almost viridian. Cold. Dark. Quite unlike her usual warm gaze. "Thanks for the moral support, Neeshka." But her voice was filled with quiet uncertainty, Elanee realized. She was trembling – perhaps not outwardly – but trembling nonetheless. Was it the trial? Perhaps she was finally realizing what its consequences might be. The young never really do think of death, unless they are at its doorstep.

But Ophala didn't allow her the time to fall into a state of depression. As it was early in the day and there were few guests, she seemed to believe they could manage it. She clapped her hands imperiously and as she spoke, she glanced not only at her girls, but at Nell's friends as well. "Don't just stand there, time is wasting! We'll put you all to work!" she continued examining and circling Nell, personally freeing her hair of the braid it was bound in. Apparently, it wasn't entirely a lost cause, because Ophala seemed to be somewhat enthusiastic about the challenge now. "Green, definitely. Gold jewelry to bring out the hair… and emeralds for the eyes."

Elanee saw Nell close her eyes and only focus on breathing. Perhaps she was afraid that death might be in her eyes. But when they opened, they were hard and cold… and filled with cold resolve.

"Mae Heberu." she whispered to herself.

And Elanee was the only one who understood.

_For Ember._


	5. Eye of the Storm

Longish chapter!! Sand takes the stage!

X X X

**Eye of the Storm**

X X X X X

"You mean to tell me that I endured hours of torture just to miss out on dinner and sleep to hold a vigil in a cold, stone church to prove that the truth is true? How come every damned tradition of this accursed city involves losing sleep?!" Nell cursed, all the while taking care not to trip when walking swiftly out of the Castle Never.

It was after the trial; they had won. Through dazzling, word-picking and immense care, they had won against great odds. The presence of Shandra had contributed to that, but the main victory lay with the two elves, who had made it seem as if there were actually two _lawyers_ present and no accused.

Neliel, too, looked almost nothing like her usual self. She was clad in an ankle-length dress of pine green velvet and satin, with only a belt of golden leaves as decoration and a small pendant around her neck. Her long hair had been trimmed and cut to fall several inches past her shoulders, her face had been painted subtly and a cloud of soft perfume seemed to enshroud her. She bore no visible weapon, but the very air around her seemed to crackle when a particularly nasty glint passed through her eyes.

Sand doubted anyone else paid much heed to that, though. Everyone was more interested with the outcome of the trial. That is, those who were now following the three of them exit the Castle – some of their little entourage had already left for one reason or another.

"I thought elves didn't need as much sleep as other races." Shandra, honorary bearer of the title of the most important chess piece of the day, noted.

It didn't do much for Nell's mood. While the sun elf had been very dignified and graceful during the trial, now, when she was angry, that control was gone. "It's the principle that counts, Shandra!"

"That is currently the least of our problems." Sand interjected before the threat of a rant from Neliel became too high. He wasn't in the mood for such a thing; he, too, had been frustrated by the sudden turn of events, but, unlike others, couldn't dwell on it. He supposed he could understand why Nell was being like that, but he had no urge to express sympathy. It had always been his way to deal with the immediate with a cool intensity. "I had hoped that Torio didn't know about this, but we must deal with it somehow."

"Maybe you could go back to your dusty tomes and research again." For some reason, Qara had decided to stick around. Sand was beginning to lose count of the reasons why he disliked the girl. Her obvious sneering indifference to proper tuition, her arrogance, her lack of subtlety… and, of course, the whining sound of her voice. Definitely nerve-shattering. "Then, after a year or two, you'd find out the obvious: that burning Lorne to ashes is the best solution. Assuming, of course, that Nell can manage anything beyond cantrips by tomorrow." she added, throwing the elf woman a taunting smirk.

Nell didn't as much as look at her, keeping her eyes in front of her. It was difficult to tell if the blow had stung, though judging by her expression, she shared Sand's sentiments on this. "I'd tell you where you can go, but that place is obviously too good for the likes of you, Qara."

It was best to break off the little party while there was still time. While it was… not the best choice he could have made, Sand's calculation of who was best suited for the task of separating the group was hardly incorrect. "I'll ask you to see her safely to the church." He turned to the paladin, who had been following silently, like some kind of bodyguard for Nell. That was probably the best way to describe his position – a bodyguard. Good thing she had one, too, because Nell was too frail in physique to be able to smash the skull of an orc without her magic.

The downside of it was that Nell herself might not forgive him – Sand – for making this decision, as her current rather pleasing overall appearance was in no way lessening the more than obvious affections the paladin had for her. He almost pitied the girl, really. Her love life really – for lack of a more cultivated expression – sucked.

"I honestly don't think it matters if I make an impression on Hlam or not, Sand." And Nell was the only one who was happily oblivious to it. Or perhaps she had trained herself to ignore it and look natural while ignoring it. Maybe it was just an orator's acting talent, because no one could be that blind naturally. "Besides, I'm in Oleff's good books already, since I cleaned his tombs."

"Thoroughly." Neeshka the rogue, appearing out of nowhere, assured them all. "I can vouch for that."

"Dear girl, right now, Luskan is desperate enough to have thugs ambush you on the way to the church." Sand explained with what patience he had. Which wasn't much, really, but it was still more than he would have done for most of the others. "While you are capable of handling them, fighting now wouldn't look too good."

"Yeah, and if your dress gets ruined, I'll have to pay Ophala back for it, Nell." Neeshka added unhelpfully.

Neliel frowned and sighed in deep frustration. "It's times like this when I feel like a horse. Nell, do this. Nell, kill that. Nell, you're absolutely green, but the rest of the Watch has decided to take a night off at the tavern, so go defeat those few ogre tribes." she quoted in a sing-song high-pitched voice, her face the expression of faux naivety – or utter stupidity, though that was hardly possible with her. "Oh, and rescue a lost emissary while you're at it. No, we don't know what he or she looks like or where to find him or her. Off you go!" she waved the imaginary recruit off. Then, she was once more the picture of frustration.

Angry horses were like that, too.

And…

Smiling wryly, Sand couldn't resist living up to the challenge. "Yes, well, everyone likes to bet on the winning horse, wouldn't you agree?"

Nell only gave a "hah!" like sound before stalking ahead, apparently heading towards the church, much more easily in her long gown than the paladin in his armor.

X X X X X

"Well, this certainly brings back memories." Nell muttered cynically once at the church. "Although the air was fresher last time." In a weary kind of manner, she turned to her companion – or bodyguard, as Sand had set him up – with what she hoped was a kinder expression. It wasn't what some of the others thought – that she didn't see – it was that she chose to turn a blind eye to the way she knew both Casavir and Bishop regarded her at times. It was hardly something to be celebrated and she truly had no wish to encourage either of them. Besides, it seemed that nowadays, they were more occupied with glaring daggers at each other than at her, so she decided to leave it be for the moment.

But being stuck alone, together with one of them… well, just to wipe away any ideas, she decided that he might as well make himself useful. Not that she expected anything unpredictable from Casavir – the man was loyal to a fault and utterly honest, which was not entirely to his advantage. Nevertheless, she needed her gear.

"Anyway, I was hoping if you could bring my armor and weapons here, as I doubt Lorne will be too impressed if I show up like this." she said with a bitter little laugh, looking down at her attire. Hours of torture had gone into the bloody dress and now, she was still supposed to prove her innocence.

Damned corrupted system.

Casavir looked like he was about to say something, but at that precise moment, a familiar voice called from the doorway of the church: "No need for that! I've got everything right here, Lady Neliel!"

"Grobnar?" Indeed it was him; but Nell wasn't the only one to look puzzled. Casavir also didn't have his neutral, impassive expression when he saw the gnome stride into the hall. Both were hoping that the bard hadn't come to offer himself as Nell's champion for the fight.

"If what you're bringing me is invisible armor from the Wendersnaven, you can keep it with my blessings." The Sun Elf said in a deadpan voice, though the gnome seemed to light up with deep thought at that.

"You know, that would be very handy! I bet it would have all kinds of wondrous enchantments!" he said with sincere excitement. "Maybe it could think for itself…"

"Grobnar…"

"Right, sorry." Then, he produced a Bag of Holding – from where, Nell had no idea – and handed it to her. "Here; Sir Sand found one of these in our pile of loot and somehow, everyone seemed to think that I was the right person to bring your things here."

Everything was there; her armor, her swords, scrolls, bone wands, a few potions… even her cape, which she didn't intend to wear for the fight, for maximum agility. But it was organized so neatly and well, Nell was forced to wonder if it had actually been Sand, with his organized chaos, who had packed it all. "Wow… remind me to make Sand pack my stuff next time." she almost whistled in awe, digging through the contents of the bag. "The only thing that's not here is an alchemy workbench."

"He seems to be proving reliable and capable." Casavir noted in his somber, quiet voice from somewhere over her shoulder. For a moment, Nell felt that he wasn't as much as studying the contents of the bag as he was studying her face from relative proximity – for his standards, of course. If one was to compare this distance to Bishop's standards, it would qualify as miles away. "Those are certainly qualities we could use on our side."

"Oh, yes, well, as soon as we arrived, Sir Sand started bickering out commands to everyone." Grobnar nodded eagerly. Nell wondered how blissful it must be to have not a care in the world and be completely ignorant of everything. "Not everyone was too enthusiastic about that, but they all want to see you safe, Lady Neliel. My, I must say, this trial is surely a thrilling adventure! Too bad about that Wendersnaven armor, though. That would make for a great song!"

Of course, Nell's train of thought was broken when she dug out a lute – the Golden Lute of Shazar, in fact. She had won it from the resident bard "champion" in Blacklake, though, to her chagrin, no one left her alone now and Grobnar kept asking who had taught her to play the mandolin so well. That was one thing that she never intended to tell any of her entourage. "Why did you pack this? I'm not serenading Lorne, I'm fighting him!"

Again, in that blissful ignorance, Grobnar waved a dismissing hand. "Oh, you know, sigils bring about inspiration! And if you don't use those blank scrolls, you could write a heroic elegy!"

"I'll work on a victory dance." Nell muttered, rearranging the items she needed. "Here's the bag."

"I believe Neeshka wanted your dress back, for the Mask lady." Grobnar reminded her. Nell thought she sensed Casavir tense a bit. She had never thought he'd actually get the implications of that almost before her.

"Tell her she'll get it in the morning." Nell said flatly. "I'm not about to spend the night in armor. And I'm not using up my Darkness and Stun spells on you two. Besides, you can bet Bishop would never let me hear the end of it." And the ranger would hear about it, for certain, from the ignorant little gnome. She really didn't have the patience for that – such taunting would have perhaps caused even her to blush. "Now, shoo! I've got things to do and plans to plan!"

X X X X X

Hours later, people began to sneak into the church. Literally, almost, but certainly Sand's visit was the one that calmed Neliel most.

"So, do you have a plan or should I not sit in the front rows tomorrow?" By then, the Sun Elf had been rummaging through potions before looking up and rolling her eyes. "Just as a precaution, of course."

"No, I'll manage. And don't you dare say anything snide about this being bravado! I really don't need that now, please."

"You said that, not I." Sand noted, with a light shrug. Then, he proceeded to examine the equipment she had laid out in front of her while devising a strategy. "Is that a… yes, a potion of Haste, I see. Strength versus speed, then, is it? I do hope you don't intend to use it mid-battle, dear girl. It might be just the chance to get your head chopped off. Ah, wands. Of… missiles, frost and summoning. No fire?" He made a small, mocking "tsk"-like sound. "Qara will be disappointed."

"Animals fear fire and this thing can only summon animals." Nell noted, rummaging some more.

"It's all a distraction for the true spell, correct? Paralysis, slowing and extra time is what you hope to gain." the moon rlf analyzed with precision.

Nell gave him a weary smile, the first she had produced in quite a few days. "I wouldn't want you against me, Sand."

"Age and experience, nothing more." the wizard said, waving the compliment off, though it was obvious that to some extent, he was pleased.

"From Hosttower?" Nell suggested. Sand was silent. That had been way below the belt, in his opinion. "You know you could have told me."

He could have, certainly, and she would likely have understood it. It seemed she did, anyway, but one could never know. Besides, they were in completely different situations. Sand would easily wager a guess that once this whole matter of Luskan and the King of Shadows would be somehow resolved, Cloaktower would be begging Neliel to join them. Assuming the tower would still be standing by then.

"I reserve the right to be evasive on such matters when speaking to relative strangers, especially when they're related to Duncan." he said instead of mentioning that.

"In name only. Not even that, I suppose." Nell mused.

"I would consider that a fortunate occurrence." Sand said as pleasantly as possible (as it was the truth), earning himself a mild glare, which was a testimony of the fact that he had successfully managed to change the topic of the conversation. "Now, as the suspense has reached its pinnacle, do tell me what you intend to use on our dear friend Lorne tomorrow."

"The potion is a precaution, in case I have to use plan B." Nell explained.

"Very well, do tell."

But this time, the sun elf grinned like an excited child. "But where would the drama in that be?"

Sand had no patience for that. "Girl, save your theatrics for the crowd in the arena. You smell of anxiety and doubt. Can you cast this spell or not? Have you done it before?" Silence, twice. That was not a good sign. She needed help and quick. None of her bumbling friends knew the first thing about _real_ magic, save for the wild magic Qara could do. And this one was a student of the arcane, though her power supply was still rough around the edges and almost slightly animalistic. Sand attributed that to the harsh environment of the Mere. That had to leave a mark. "I insist that you tell me now."

"Fine, then." Nell scowled, as if to say that I wasn't fair to ask. "I want to cast a Sunbeam. Directly at his eyes. It will work better than Darkness and if I can blind him for a moment…"

"You realize that the spell you want to perform is on the eight difficulty level on the arcane scale?" Sand interrupted, with a somewhat stern expression. He wasn't mocking her this time; these were facts. "And that you are barely scraping the weakest sixth level spells as you are now?"

"I know that. But weaker spells could be resisted."

But in her eyes, one could see that she didn't believe she could do it. She _knew_ it was beyond her skill, but she was determined to try nonetheless. Admirable, but foolish. She had one night to master a spell such as that – that was just as foolish as mixing random potion ingredients together.

"You might as well summon a baatezu without a Protection spell, Neliel. Sweet Mystra, I thought you were reasonably intelligent." Sand dismissed her sigh without even acknowledging it. At least he had planned for such a situation. "Fortunately for you, as your lawyer, your defense is in my capacity."

Nell crooked a golden eyebrow with distinct amusement. "You're offering to fight for me?" She seemed to be laughing, though whether because it was ridiculous or touching, Sand couldn't say.

Not that that was the case, of course. "Amusing thought." he noted, the corners of his mouth twitching once. It was kinder not to laugh outright. But they were late. "They should be here…"

"There you are, guys!" a shrill female voice called from the entrance just as three similarly tall figures burst into the church.

"…right about now." Sand finished, unimpressed by the dramatic entrance of the three women.

One wore leather armor, a shining dagger concealed on her person. The second a set of light armor and the pelt of some animal around her shoulders, a sickle hanging from her belt. And the third, dressed in fine if snobbish robes, carried a slightly curved staff in her hands.

It was the first time he had seen Neliel goggle at something openly. "Neeshka? Elanee? _Qara?_" she asked with disbelief.

The one mentioned last scoffed and sneered a bit. "She remembers our names. Maybe this'll actually work."

"That proves you're not Luskans with alteration powder, at least." Nell noted, ignoring her. Then, she noticed a cubical object in Elanee's hands and stared some more. "Is that…?"

"Yeah!" Neeshka said gleefully, hopping onto the nearest seat with an air of well-deserved rest. "We got this from the academy – it _is_ the right one, right?" she said, glancing at Sand, who nodded once before ignoring her once again.

""The Epic Gate to Spell Battle"." Nell read once the druidess gave her the book with a small smile. She could hardly believe her eyes. "How did you…?"

Neeshka waved the question away without arrogance, but with that annoying mischief she always had around her. But she seemed highly pleased that Nell was shocked. "You're talking to the "Greatest thief of Neverwinter" here, Nell. It was a synch once we got past the wards."

"Actually, I believe that imp you helped in Blacklake saved us a lot of trouble with entering." Elanee corrected, sitting down as well. All of them remembered that experience. There were still imps flying around Blacklake today.

"Oh, come on, Elanee!" Neeshka whined. "_I_ did the toughest job here! I got the book without problems!"

"Except almost getting fried by the holy trap on one of the shelves." Qara said snidely, the only one not bothering to sit down.

"Yeah, no thanks to you, Princess." Neeshka´s voice actually lost its cheerfulness for a moment when she looked at the sorceress. "You could've at least pointed out where those wards were."

Perhaps their bickering continued, but Sand, who had taken the book from Neliel, was already flipping through the pages before finding the one they would need. "This is your spell." He said, pointing at a page with the picture of a rotting corpse. Level six, so she could manage it. It was a bit of a gamble, but Sand considered it more of a chance than her own chosen spell.

Examining the page, Neliel cringed a bit. "_That_ is going to be… messy." she noted, reading the name of the spell again.

"Not at all, if you do it correctly. The druidess has offered to help you practice a bit." he said, glancing at Elanee, who nodded and summoned a wolf with an incantation of nature. "Try it. You cannot learn by just memorizing the words. You may read the first few times as if it were a scroll."

The Sun Elf took the book and read through the incantation twice. Then, closing it while holding a finger at her page, she stood up, focused on the wolf and imagined that it had Torio's head.

And, somehow, the incantation wasn't necessary. It took one word: "_Disintegrate!_" A pile of dust was all that remained before it vanished, the wolf unsummoned. Sand himself was almost impressed. He was beginning to understand why Luskan feared this one woman so. She wasn't great in power now, but her potential for growth was astonishing. And lightning-fast. If her powers could be honed and tuned, she could be… and if he could remain on her good side, giving her a leg-up now could secure him some great favors in the future.

This woman had the chance to be one of the select few running Cloaktower one day.

There was silence. And then…

"I think we might manage one more spell tonight." Sand proclaimed, taking the book from a stunned Nell and began flipping through the pages again. "Proceed."


	6. Reminiscence

For those of you who aren't familiar with the DD pantheons, the gods mentioned are those of love and marriage, among other things.

X X X

**Reminiscence**

X X X X X

There were very few things that didn't possess the capacity to annoy Qara at some point during their existence. At that point, their existence would likely end in a fiery blaze of flames, though that was beside the point. What mattered was that while many things annoyed her, very few things actually made her wish for the power to blow up entire buildings. The situation at Crossroad Keep certainly made her wish that she could blow up the entire stupid fortress.

Or, better yet, blow up the whole _stupid_ King of Shadows and be done with this.

Unlike the other idiots in their pathetic little band, the young sorceress hadn't joined this _very important and oh-whatever_ quest because she wanted world peace or hero-worshipped and/or lusted after their _perfect_ leader. In fact, if anyone asked for her opinion – which no one did – she wouldn't really understand what everyone found so fascinating about Nell.

Fine, so she could cast a few simple spells. Who couldn't? Moving _on…_through all their troubles, she had bumbled by chance and survived mostly because of the same thing – or due to aid from unexpected sources. The elf was neither almighty, nor some god-sent savior from the higher planes.

Which was why Crossroad Keep qualified as annoying. Everyone that inhabited its walls didn't seem to believe that Nell was just as mortal as the rest of them. Such behavior was tolerable – barely – in the soldiers. They were a simple-minded lot, likely never having seen a spellcaster of any decency before. In Kana, it was to be expected, though Qara disliked the officer nonetheless. But things were moving past the acceptable point even with the other members of their little entourage.

Every day, those at the Keep in possession of even the slightest hearing had the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to listen to the latest episode of the family show "Bishop and Casavir". Not for children under thirteen. Expect unbelievable boredom and repeated conversation topics. In fact, Qara was almost on the verge of considering destroying her own hearing, because she knew that Nell would freak out and likely reanimate their corpses in case she killed them _by accident_. Then again, she could always just scorch them to ashes and frame Sand… but it was unlikely that their _Captain_ would fall for that.

Not that the Captain seemed to be about to fall for anything… or anyone, for that matter. Either she had infinite patience and tact to keep looking the other way whenever a particularly worshipping or lustful look was sent her way… or she was simply too ignorant. But she didn't think that, really. Nell, while many things in her opinion, wasn't stupid. And there were many things occupying her attention at almost every waking moment now.

Ever since that whole "save the Keep from Garius and his cronies" incident, there was always something to build, to research, to search for… and, to top it all, Sand had decided that there was need for Neliel to become stronger – namely, that she had to finally master her melee weapon, the sword. It had been amusing to watch Nell's expressions during the discussion. Qara knew well – even if the others didn't – that Nell's swordsmanship was severely lacking. Certainly, she could take the head of a paralyzed foe, even a monster, perhaps, but to fight toe-to-toe against something that could block and fight back in a similar fashion… that was where the problems began.

Eldritch Knight, the moon elf had decided for the Captain. No objections.

And so, every day, once the work was done – the newest building approved, loot and peasant problems sorted out – a daily ritual began, which involved Sand, Neliel and Kana, whom the wizard had chosen as a suitable sparring partner for the increase of Nell's swordsmanship, sealing themselves in one of the larger storage rooms of the keep for at least two hours. Each time, Nell walked out looking utterly exhausted and beaten, Kana with only mildly ragged breaths and Sand still clutching a half-read book on some nonsense.

This time, the sorceress had a chance to see the inner workings of the ritual.

It was the show again – and this time, a rather loud episode was playing. Thus Qara decided to salvage what was left of her hearing and take the complaint to Nell. Of course, she _could_ have just incinerated them, but missing a chance to annoy the she-elf was hardly something she would allow to come to pass.

The sorceress had never actually liked Neliel. Not that she hated her, per se, but there was a sufficient amount of dislike between them. Mostly from the human sorceress's part, for several reasons. The most important of those being that Nell had clearly once been like her – conscious of her power and unafraid to use it to its full force, slight as that might have been back then. Now, Qara could only quietly sneer at the way the she-elf spent whatever minute she had to spare with her nose stuck in a book on monster anatomy or something of the sort.

The second most important reason was that for this very habit of hers, Nell got along with Sand very well; possibly better than anyone else around. Qara spoke some Elvish, but never bothered to keep track of their conversations. Being consciously aware of them was annoying enough. And, thirdly, it was getting harder and harder to mock Nell because of the inferiority of her raw magicka in comparison to hers.

Qara had come to the conclusion that Nell wasn't particularly powerful or strong or skilled to start with. Her advantage lay in the fact that she had an amazing potential for growth… which seemed to expand and quicken the more she tried. The sorceress wasn't entirely certain how to feel about this. She herself still had some trouble with the more difficult spells the group's mages were now required to perform. With this single advantage on her side, Nell would likely eventually surpass her in terms of magical power, which irked the human a bit.

Not that Nell would hear about that. _Ever._

In the storage room, she was faced with a both impressive and humorous sight. Blades clashing, yelps and leaps and all that swordplay involved at a great speed. Neliel, dressed in full leather armor, was dueling Kana, and it was obvious who had more skill. It gave the sorceress just the slightest bit of satisfaction to see the she-elf struggle greatly, both physically to fend off the flurry of blows and mentally to keep focused on the battle and not resort to a spell, which had obviously been forbidden in this duel.

Nell leapt forward, attacking in a way that Kana avoided easily and delivered a blow to her shoulder with the flat of the sword instead of the blade. Still, the strike was of sufficient force to send the elf tumbling forward before she regained her balance and struck a defensive position just in time to have the sword almost knocked out of her hands. True to its name, it almost seemed to be singing, or humming, at least, as it crashed against the other weapon.

After a few attacks and rather well-executed parries, during which Kana ignored several possibilities to swipe her Captain's head off cleanly, the officer managed to push Neliel into a sword lock that resulted with the she-elf ducking a swipe only to have her body pressed against the wall, a razor-sharp blade against her throat.

It was then that Qara noticed that Sand was also in the room, near the distant window, sitting in a chair that had obviously been placed there for his convenience, as it was way too comfortable to belong in what could only be seen as a storage room. Next to his chair was a modest pile of the books, clearly from the library, some parchment and a bottle of fresh ink, still sealed. Another book was in his hands, halfway read-through already, but he closed it as soon as he spotted the sorceress, carefully marking his page. He had appeared pleased when watching Neliel and Kana fight, but upon seeing Qara, his expression morphed into one of contempt under a thick mask of cynical humor.

"Ah, look who has come to bestow the honor of her presence upon us. Qara." The human hated the way he pronounced her name. Two syllables only and they already involved enough mockery to grant any other unfortunate person a fireball. Unfortunately, Sand was off-limits for incineration, for now. The moon elf didn't even bother to rise to his not really impressive height, placed the book carefully on the pile and "To what do we owe this dubious pleasure? Do tell, that we may avoid making such a mistake in the future."

Qara's eyes narrowed. That one had a fireball heading his way and one day, it would reach him. One day… "Find it in your books before they fall apart on you, Sand." she snapped, a rather curt insult when coming from her. By then, Nell had picked herself up from the ground and had her sword returned to her by the ever-zealot-like Kana, who was helping her rearrange her armor after that spectacular crash. "I'm here because they're at it again." the sorceress said. Her words were self-explanatory, she thought.

And she was right; immediately, Nell seemed to realize what was happening. "They…? Oh, no. Not _again_." she moaned despairingly. "I thought today's show was over!" So, she was not ignorant of what was going on. Well, good. That meant she might be able to put a stop to it.

In all honesty, Qara didn't really get what the two men – and men in general, it seemed, judging by the various encounters throughout their travels – found so enticing about Nell. She was as tall as a human woman – which meant _tall_ for an elf – with a generally unremarkable physique; slender, if perhaps a bit too thin, the result of a life in poor conditions. She had filled up a bit in the past months, though, so perhaps it was the increase of her bust that had led to this. Also, her formerly waist-length hair had been reduced to about three-quarters its length before her duel with Lorne, which meant that it barely reached half of her back now.

If one was familiar with sun elves, then there was little of significance to comment on Neliel's appearance. Of course, the fact that sun elves were quite uncommon on the Sword Coast these days meant that people tended to stare at Nell at times as if one of the rulers of Baator had materialized before their eyes. Even Neeshka got less stares at times. Of course, it could also be because of Nell's rising fame. _Everyone_ knew about the mock-trial. _Everyone_ had heard about how she had spared Lorne after winning their duel.

Neliel the Merciful. Neliel the _Foolish_ was more like it. Fortunately, it seemed that Lorne had met his end at the hands of his master upon another failure. Naturally, that only added to Neliel's "legend" and the terrible songs Grobnar had taken to composing about their adventures. Thank Mystra that the whole group usually met only during meals these days; everyone was scattered in a different part of the Keep, be it the library, the basement or the in that had so recently been taken over by Duncan's former bartender, Sal.

If it wasn't for that _stupid _stupid_ inn,_ she wouldn't even _be_ here.

Sand raised his eyebrows at Nell's look of disdain. "I do believe humans consider playing hard to get attractive."

Nell didn't seem to find that very helpful, because she sent him a frown and shook her head again. "If they think that turning a blind eye to this all is playing hard to get, then it's a lost cause." she noted tonelessly.

In fact, Qara could easily summarize that the best word to describe Nell would be _unusual_ not _unusually attractive _or_ attractive_ in general. Her general charm stemmed from her ability to dazzle, trick or intimidate anyone and everyone that got in her way. Which was a useful thing, the sorceress mused privately, watching the exchange.

Kana, who had finished her reparations of Nell's armor, seemed to be a bit uncomfortable with this discussion, though her face was as impassive and dedicated as ever. It was the way she interjected without waiting to be addressed that betrayed that sentiment. "Captain Imladris, if we are done for today, perhaps I should leave…"

"It's quite alright, Kana." Nell said quickly, understanding. Again, Kana was one of those people with which Nell got along with surprisingly well, assuming Kana wasn't piling reports on her desk, which she tended to dislike. "I'm sorry, my aim is getting sloppy. I shall have to be more careful next time."

The officer seemed to be slightly unnerved to have her superior apologize to her, but decided to tactfully ignore it and accept it gratefully at the same time. "Tomorrow, then." she said, nodding briskly.

Unlike Neliel, whose hair was loose all over her face, Kana's appearance remained more or less immaculate. "Yes. At ease, Kana. Thank you."

Kana almost marched out of the room with military precision, with a curt nod of farewell to Sand and a brief glance at Qara. Once the door closed behind her, Nell combed a hand through her hair, flattening it somewhat.

"Sand, I'm waiting for your stroke of genius to get me out of this mess." she said, in all seriousness, though there was a hint of concealed desperation about her words. "Please tell me what to do."

The moon elf seemed to be in a distinctly unhelpful mood, but Qara could swear that he looked the slightest bit uncomfortable when it came to answering the question. Certainly there was sweat tickling down his temple, even if it didn't show in his tone or expression. "Dear girl, I can hardly claim to be an expert on driving off overeager suitors that cannot seem to be able to even establish their intentions in their own minds, I fear."

"You'd better think up something fast, or else I won't guarantee that they won't have a rendezvous with a fireball soon." the sorceress interjected before Nell could descend into despair.

And, though it hadn't been a plan, but a promise, Nell's eyes immediately flared up with an angry fire, rather like a magically enchanted green-blue torch a necromancer might prefer to the usual red-and-gold flames. "Don't you dare! Do you have the faintest idea how much the tapestries cost? Use poison, if you must! But I cannot do _anything _about the situation unless one kills the other!"

"You could just yell at them that you don't want either of them, you know." Qara suggested snappishly. Oh, so now the _great Captain of Crossroad Keep_ was unable to do anything herself! Wonderful! Servants! Come, fetch! "Maybe emphasize that with a little shock spell, you should be able to pull that off." she added, emphasizing the _should_, because it was bound to annoy the hell out of Neliel, whose newfound specialization were electrical elemental spells and formulae that were meant to destroy the body by knowledge of its anatomy – such as the Disintegration she had used on Lorne.

To Qara's surprise and annoyance, Nell didn't react that predictably. She sighed instead. "I tried. It doesn't work."

"Did you use the shock spell?" the sorceress demanded, her tone steely.

"Well, no, but…" She didn't think so.

And thus… "Do it."

Finally, golden brows knitting together in a neat frown, Nell's eyes narrowed. "Look, I know this is annoying… and rather embarrassing…" she added in a mutter, but both others heard.

"Indeed." Sand confirmed from his books, earning a glare.

"Yup." Qara mumbled under her breath.

"…but I need both of them alive and functional, as they are good at what they do." Nell finished before she could be forced to employ magic.

"They have an actual _use_?" Sand asked with astonishment that seemed so real, even Qara could almost believe it. Almost. "I certainly didn't notice that…"

"Casavir raises the general morale of the soldiers." Nell explained. She had obviously thought up Reasons Not to Kill the Idiots Now. "And Bishop-"

"Makes them feel better about not being so holy themselves?" Sand finished, surveying her skeptically. "I fully understand and approve of the concept of having a hammer-wielding human shield in front of you when in battle, but I keep wondering why exactly you let our dear ranger stay. Or why he _chooses_ to stay. Certainly he can find someone else to kill at his leisure without the risk of being labeled as one of the _heroes_."

"Because I get the feeling that we will be trekking through many a wilderness yet." Nell said, not so patiently now. Obviously, she was still trying to justify her current lack of carnage. A shame. "And that what I know about exploration isn't enough to classify me as a pathstalker. Besides, it keeps the balance."

"Oh, isn't that ever-so-sweet?" Qara sneered mockingly, reveling in the situation. She rarely had the chance to humiliate Nell so perfectly nowadays, so she certainly wasn't about to miss it. "Nell's afraid that the statue of a paladin might proclaim his undying love for her if the show is cancelled. I guess we'll have to wait until you learn how to blast a fireball, then, Nell."

But with the passing months, Neliel had lost her initial fire; she was now becoming the Captain of Crossroad Keep, the Hero of Neverwinter, etcetera. She was more somber, more mature, less inclined towards making good on her death threats. "Qara, which part of: I can do nothing did you not understand?" the she-elf asked, her voice dark, her eyes narrowed. "Perhaps I am using words too big for you. If I, in any way, punish, threaten or kill one of them, the other will see this as his chance. The world isn't black and white – but it seems that for them, rejecting one means accepting the other! It's a hopeless, lost cause."

"Then convince one of your toy soldiers to pretend you're in _love_. I don't care." That could work, actually.

"I'd say the moment I do something like that, Bishop decides that the particular soldier is expendable and thus replaceable. I tried convincing Sand to leak information that in the aftermath of my post-duel-to-the-death celebration, I drank a bit too much and ended up dragging him off to a temple of Evening Glory or Hanali Celanil, but without success. I'm considering an actual proposal." Nell explained, tossing the moon elf a sour look.

Qara was actually speechless for a second. Though whether it was because of shock or disgust or barely suppressed rage that it didn't seem the problem wasn't going to get solved too soon, no one could guess.

Sand, meanwhile, had stood up from his books, taking a few steps towards the she-elf with her arms crossed, but carefully, as if approaching a hissing and scratching cat, while Neliel seemed the image of serenity. "While I highly appreciate you choosing me as the first option when selecting a candidate for marriage, I feel I must respectfully decline your offer, dear girl. I am unfortunately not too inclined towards finding an arrow or two attached to my vital organs one day."

"See? This is the thanks I get for sticking out my neck for Neverwinter." Nell fumed momentarily "No one's helpful around here."

Fortunately, the world was not about to find out what either the elven wizard or the human sorceress had to say about that, as there was an almost inaudible knock on the door and the smallest and frailest-looking resident of Crossroad Keep – including Grobnar – entered, carrying what, in comparison to him, seemed an immense pair of boots. The little kobold kept shifting underneath their weigh, but managed to hold his own with almost acrobatic agility.

"Deekin!" Nell was on her feet at once and relieved the tiny dragon-like creature of his load. "You didn't have to carry them down here, I told you I'd come for them."

"It least Deekin can do for you, Boss Captain!" the kobold chirped happily, showing no sign of relief that he was free of the burden, only happiness. Qara remembered finding this little monster in the Merchant Quarter back in Neverwinter and Nell, damn her foolish pseudo-kindness, had convinced the kobold to set up shop at the Keep. After all, he had provided her with the armor she was now wearing and several other useful trinkets her companions had.

Qara had little to no sympathy for the creature, though how he had survived up till now remained a mystery. It was said that this scrawny kobold had accompanied a series of daring adventurers on several tasks, but the sorceress hardly believed such tales. Still, the stash Deekin had was surprising.

Neliel, sitting down, removed her current boots and pulled on this brand-new pair. It seemed tailor-fit for her shoe size and clearly, the kobold was happy with that. The she-elf then walked a few paces, concluding that the famous Dragon Slippers suited her well.

"Thank you, Deekin."

"Little Deekin always glad to help hero on dangerous quest." Deekin said with a toothy smile. "Deekin writes story about great battle at Keep, maybe, if Deekin gets enough money for ink and parchment!"

And then, just as the kobold was about to be dismissed, an idea popped into Nell's head. "Deekin… maybe you could help me with something."

The dragon-like creature smiled eagerly, ready to please. "Sure thing, Boss Captain!"

And so, to the utter astonishment of both Sand and Qara, Nell explained the entire situation regarding the not-so-three-angled love triangle going on at the Keep in detail. Then, pausing and drawing a breath, she posed her question. "Give me some advice on how to deal with the matter, please."

"Deekin knows little about big people problems." The kobold said after a moment of thinking, his huge eyes honest. Nell seemed a bit disappointed before he continued. "But Boss have problems with males too." the kobold said almost cheerfully, proceeding to explain in brief that he had traveled through the Underdark and even the Wastes of Cania, one of the Hells of Baator, with several heroes in search of True Names. Even Qara couldn't help being slightly intrigued. "White knowing lady told Boss her true love was Goat-man who loved Boss, but Boss was true love of winged green man."

Sand's left eyebrow twitched. "Goat man?"

"Winged green man?" Qara repeated, thinking it far-fetched.

But Nell had an answer ready. "A tiefling, I'm assuming. Remember how fed up Neeshka gets if anyone calls her "goat girl". And winged green man… a celestial, certainly, and I'd wager a guess at a planetar. Those are said to have green skin."

"That is so messed up." The sorceress noted superiorly.

"Hush, Qara. Go on, Deekin."

The kobold seemed very happy to be of help and liked telling the story, though he seemed a bit frightened of his own memories at places. "Boss was sad but white knowing lady said it was truth." he continued, recalling the words of the Knower of Names, the face of his Boss and the sorrow of the moment that even he had felt. "Green winged man sleep in Cania many years waiting for true love. Deekin write entire chapter about that in his book! Boss was very nice lady and liked that very much, Deekin thinks. But Boss likes Goat-man more and wanted to tell winged green man. But winged green man didn't listen and kissed Boss in front of goat man. Deekin was very scared then, because goat man had very big flail, very scary."

"And what did she do then, your Boss that is?" Nell asked, obviously believing that the answer she was waiting for was about to come to her.

To her clear disdain, the kobold shrugged. "Deekin not sure, Boss Captain. Deekin needed to go to toilet then and when little Deekin returns, Boss and goat man and drow lady and ghost lady already ready to go."

Even Qara almost grinned (in contrast to her usual sneer) when she saw Nell groan and bury her face in her hands. To think that of all the problems she handled effortlessly, a kobold and a pair of idiots could bring her down so easily.


	7. History

X X X

**History**

X X X X X

Traveling with a group of adventurers was exceedingly more exciting than traveling on his own, Grobnar could easily say. Nowadays, he was much less insulted or chased by angry mobs than before and some people actually seemed to appreciate his knowledge and lore, though it was a rare wonder. Nevertheless, rare was much better than impossible, and the gnome was happy.

He was beginning to contemplate writing his own book about these adventures, though he knew he had to try and make a mental note to ask his newfound idol, Deekin, for some pointers. But there was so much to do and to remember, and always there were new possibilities and discoveries! Now that his masterpiece, the Construct, as the bard lovingly called his reconstructed pet blade golem, was finished, he had to work on other things. Research regarding the Shadow Reavers was in the capable hands of Aldanon, with whom the bard had already shared a few wonderfully insightful conversations. The sage wasn't a sage for nothing, you know.

All that was slightly regrettable was that Grobnar didn't always get the chance to go along with Lady Neliel on the adventurous adventures! Especially when stealth was involved. And this time, speed was essential, so Grobnar often found himself stuck at the Keep, wandering around, messing around with things – to Kana and Veedle's chagrin most of the time – and generally being what they called a "nuisance".

Except for the time when they went looking for the Wendersnaven. That had been a wonderful experience and he was very glad to have found someone who knew of the greatness of the creatures that were so mysterious, the word itself didn't do them sufficient justice. Shame about not finding them, but the Wenderkazoo was a gift from the heavens as well, the contribution to their cause only the Wendersnaven could have put into their path.

But now, Lady Neliel needed in to help a fellow knight of the Neverwinter Nine and everyone had immediately agreed that close combat with a horde of enemies was not one of Grobnar's strong suits. As the strange and unlikely pair followed Lady Neliel almost everywhere nowadays Ammon Jerro and Zhjaeve had both independently decided to accompany her with their scrolls of True Names. That was a very interesting subject, True Names. Grobnar wondered what the Names of the other members of their party were. Not to misuse them, of course, but to see if they truly reflected the actual nature of their bearers.

He hadn't gotten the chance to examine the names of the Reavers in detail, because Zhjaeve refused to give him the scroll even for a moment and Ammon Jerro… well, the bard remembered the look he had gotten when he had cheerfully approached the aged warlock before and some time would have to pass before he would dare do so again.

Thus the keep was under the de facto control of Kana, who would occasionally go check upon Sand, who was in the library as always, researching some more and translating Aldanon's notes to normal speech, just to make certain that their "advisor on Luskan coat-turning" and "honorary unwilling guest" as Sand and Neliel deemed her at times, one venom-spitting Torio Claven, also a regular at the library, had not yet cracked and strangled the moon elf with a rope made of bookmarks.

Neeshka was "keeping an eye on the tavern" as she herself described it, though it was in fact watching out for would-be thieves, as no one was better for such a task than an actual thief. Elanee was likely lamenting the sad lack of trees within the keep itself, Qara was skulking around and the gnome certainly hadn't seen Sir Bishop for some time. Odd, but Grobnar supposed rangers were like that.

In any case, the gnome had been given the delicate task of recovering a book from Neliel's room for the research going on in the library, being the only one trustworthy enough and available for the job. The captain's quarters were one of the larger ones in the keep, with a desk covered with papers that had once been neatly organized. A stack of books was near the nightstand, almost dwarfing it, but the nightstand itself was home to several potion bottles.

Leaning against it were two blades, a silvery longsword in a sheath of polished leather, the one Lady Neliel had usually fought with prior to discovering the Sword of Gith and a smoothly forged katana with powerful enchantments, with which Lady Neliel sparred with Shandra, lending the now unfortunately deceased woman her own blade. Grobnar suspected that Neliel had intended to give Shandra her own sword as a sign of friendship, but never got the chance to actually do so. The katana she used because she had little idea what the blade of Gith would be like and wanted to be prepared to wield any kind of sword. It had also been a research project for enchantments. With the discovery of the famed blade, both those sword had become obsolete, though Neliel kept them with her as keepsakes and for training purposes, at times.

The book that was required in the library was nowhere in sight, so Grobnar apologized out loud to the absent Neliel for rummaging through her things and proceeded to search. He found many interesting scripts, but none was what he was searching for. A book on transmutation, another on the powers of the outsiders, the particulars of the split of the people of Zerthimon and Gith, an extract explaining the significance of True Names, a report on the status of rations for the keep…

And a coded text in a language Grobnar didn't quite understand. Now this was interesting! There were very few common languages Grobnar didn't understand, as he had picked up quite a few while being chased by angry natives and took note of their many curses and dialects. But this… well, it seemed almost Elvish, but then it wasn't. Too flowing to be Dwarvish or Orcish, but not Draconic… and it wasn't any incantation either, he was certain of that. This was a text that went on for pages and pages…

After a few minutes of examining and staring at the words, the bard figured out the riddle. It was a simple code, really; every letter swapped for another three places ahead of it in the alphabet. But therein laid its effectiveness. The text was written in a variation of Elvish Grobnar hadn't yet encountered, so he supposed it was the tongue of the sun elves, but it was only a variation of the language he was familiar with, thus he was able to decipher the text and guess what word went where.

It was a journal, a record of events. But Grobnar understood very little of the contents of the text.

_Dark have been my dreams of late. _

_The visions in my dreams neither lessen nor strengthen, but they have been murkier each day that separates me from the starting point of my journey. At first, I have believed it to be the result of the loss of West Harbor and the death of A., whose name I still cannot even force myself to write down, but that was a lie. I have scarcely thought of my village or my friend during the first steps of my journey. The horror had been dulled by the experience of release. The world was upon me, no matter for what reason, and I was finally free to leave as I wished. As I thought I wished._

_The coldness of my father's words still stings, even now, when miles separate us. There cannot be love between us when there is so much pain and mystery there. My newfound uncle, a warm and kind soul, claims that this might be simply because he is saddened by what he remembers and wishes not to impart pain upon me. He lies, though he doesn't know it. My father would have told me all, if not for his promise to raise me as well as my mother would have. That is, as always, the only bit of information about my true heritage that I have gathered, and even that by chance. I suppose father believed that a child asking why she had no mama like all others would soon forget such words. _

_But even in the lazy idleness of West Harbor, such things couldn't be forgotten. The villagers have always been wary of father and I. They never showed it, but I could feel it and eventually, couldn't attribute it to simple lack of understanding of those of elven blood, of which only the two of us lived in the village, only I being fully elven. Father for his aloofness, I for my constant pursuit of something greater than the life of a swamp farmer. _

_Now, my friends are gone, the place I have been taught to call home is ashes and dust and I am searching for answers to questions that should never have been posed. This shard, this piece of silver I carry, it teems with life. At least when within my hands, when close to me. Perhaps the resonance is indeed a consequence of my presence, as the wizard had suggested. If so, then the real question I shall pose the sage is what it is about me that could cause this metal to awaken its magic and enhance my abilities – for I feel its soothing effects even now, as I write._

_Whatever the answers may be, I am shamed by my lack of regret at leaving West Harbor. I am certain that eventually, the secret would have been figured out and in some distant corner of their hearts, the villagers wouldn't be able to help partly blaming father for this and through him, myself as well. Had I known of this, I would have insisted that a properly schooled mage examine this immediately. But I am grateful for the chance to see the world, especially as I haven't remained on my own for long. The journey to Neverwinter would have been quicker that way, true, but I find the presence of others comforting. _

_Ever since Khelgar teamed up with me, in a sense, I haven't thought as much of the darkness of these githyanki creatures that might pursue me even now. Neeshka, the tiefling, reminds me of A. so much that it is almost painful to bear, which is why I overlook her tendency to attract chaos, even if it goes against my general preferences. However, I somehow think Elanee, the druidess, conceals something from me, for her presence is not entirely alien to me, even though I am certain I haven't seen her face prior to our encounter on the way to Highcliff. Nevertheless, she has proven to be trustworthy thus far and I am grateful for that. She is the first of my kind I have had the chance to speak to._

_It has been three and a half weeks since I have set out from my village and I write this as I sit in my room at the Sunken Flagon in Neverwinter. It seems my trials have only just begun, as my plan to approach Aldanon at once has to be postponed due to the quarantine in the district he inhabits. The Fates – or the gods – seem to have a sense of humor, wicked as it is. Perhaps this is to balance for my newfound uncle, whom I have learned to love in a very short time, and companions who seem to understand my heart and mind better than those I have known in the short years of my life._

_I simply wish that I could see through the shadow and then the blinding flash, so that I might know who to ask about the pain I feel each time I dream._

The entry in the pleasant handwriting and elegant elven runes was finished. Grobnar was by then very aware that he shouldn't continue reading the text. It was something private, not meant for the eyes of anyone else. But the runes were fascinating and the code began to grow complex with the entries to come. And if he was to write a book about their adventures, he needed the information. Of course, he would never write something out of Lady Neliel's private thoughts, but the wish to understand the perspective of the hero of his book was enough for him to continue.

_Neverwinter is nothing like I imagined it. I have been naïve; in my desire to leave West Harbor for a mage's academy of repute, I have imagined a welcoming city of hope and light, not a gloomy fortress of stone that still echoes of the plague of a few years ago. I still haven't had any success in completing my goal. One task leads to another, it seems, and I am bound for a landmark outside of the walls of Neverwinter – Old Owl Well. History beyond that of the Art isn't my chosen field of knowledge, but I know of the importance of the place. _

_What puzzles me, however, is that Brelaina has chosen a new and relatively untested recruit for a task of such political undertones. Having been made lieutenant in such a short period of time alone is somewhat alarming, but this ought to exceed my normal operative allowances, I am certain. Still, I will succeed, because succeed I must. I regret only that it will mean a few nights of sleeping outside again; I have grown comfortable with my room at the Flagon. The same cannot be said for the man I have noticed occasionally watching us at the inn, one who I had no trouble identifying as a ranger. I sincerely hope this isn't proof of a severe case of paranoia due to the constant appearances of githyanki screaming _kalach-cha_ and wishing for my blood._

_I cannot describe the recognition I fee ton the few occasions when we have had eye contact; I feel as if I know the man, or rather, something about him, but I cannot begin to guess what. He is obviously human, so he cannot be any possible or impossible long-lost relative, but it isn't something I can shake off. I will keep note of this, however only in passing, as there are many things which require my immediate attention. One of them is the latest addition to my entourage, one that I hardly welcome. The human sorceress known as Qara joined us at the insistence of my uncle, whose inn she almost blew up in a fit of uncontrolled magic. Not only is she a danger to all around her, she is also exceedingly annoying. Her only saving grace is that she reminds me of Tarmas at times, though the wizard seems a deva in comparison to this Baator-spawn Duncan has bound to me. _

That phrase again:_ kalach-cha_. Shard-bearer. Now at least it was clear whence it had surfaced. Grobnar was excited about reading the text further; he actually didn't really comprehend much of the actual meaning behind the words, but it was very informative. Especially as Lady Neliel didn't like to brag much and one could hardly suppose Neeshka or Khelgar gave a completely exact account of their journeys.

The next entry was written with clear calm and serenity.

_Much has happened since I have last written and I am ashamed of my own lack of will to record news of our deeds to written word. After several close encounters with death, I have made the choice to record my life, short as it was thus far, to parchment. I am beginning to accept the fact that my journey will not end with a happy return to West Harbor; it is likely that I shall not live much longer, not with all that has happened and will happen. But I wish to take things in order. I wish to tell the tale of my life, even if I haven't the courage to speak it to anyone. _

_I was born twenty-seven years ago. Where or under what circumstances, I cannot begin to guess. I know little of my origins or of my parents; the name of my mother was Esmerelle Imladris, though I cannot verify the authenticity of the surname – Duncan claims not to remember and father, who gave the surname to me, would likely not say. Of my true father, I know nothing, only that he was of sun elven blood like my mother and that they were not married, at least as far as Duncan was able to guess. I suppose I will never know who he was, but there is no sense of loss within me: I have had neither father nor mother, and I cannot miss what I have never had. I can only be jealous of those who have had their own parents live with them._

_Nell the Orphan._

The sigh of bitterness there was almost detectable.

_I was raised by Daeghun Farlong, a friend of my mother's, though if I were to consider anyone a parent, it would be Retta Starling, the mother of my friend Bevil. At a young age, the Art awoke within me, but it was an element of chaos that I couldn't control. Tarmas, the village wizard, began to tutor me, but I lacked the discipline and focus to project my spells correctly. Amie, my best friend from then on, was the one who showed me how to concentrate. But, magic ran wild with me still and my foster father decided to put it to some use. I suppose that the true reason why he decided to take me along into the wild to hunt once was because of the cart I set on fire; he saw that my magic was like an animal that needed to roar, best far away from those it could hurt. _

_For ten years, I almost completely set aside the Art after I accidentally froze Ward Mossfeld out of anger, which I regretted more than he deserved. I regretted seeing the looks of fright in the eyes of the villagers; usually, when magic was performed at the Harvest Fair, the reaction was enthusiastic, but never this… not this. Amie pleaded with me and Tarmas called me a fool. But my skill in random destruction seemed almost impossible to tame. The Art burned and an attempted Flare came out so strongly that it burned my hands. I couldn't touch anything for two days even after Brother Merring healed me. Other spells I attempted were equally chaotic. They were more likely to hurt me than their intended target._

_In ten years, I was a practiced scout, though father always criticized my lack of patience and inability to conceal my presence from creatures. Even now, I am useless at stealth without an invisibility spell. But in those days, I was different. I was rarely at the village, spending my days roaming the woods even on my own, without father. I was more like the wild elves than my own kin. At times, I used magic, my wild, untamed power, in moments when my life was in danger or when the power within me threatened to burst, but never when avoidable. _

_My magic saved a life one day. I could scarcely believe it myself. A man had wandered too far from the road and was almost slain by a pack of wolves, led by several of the dire kind which I had seen only once or twice before. He seemed dead already, having lost much blood, but I knew that the pack had to be disposed of nonetheless. My first two arrows missed – the third did not – but I was discovered before I could destroy the creatures in such a manner. Calling on magic was not an art in that moment; it was pure instinct. I had-long since forgotten how to cast with restraint. That I didn't kill the man was a miracle, for the animals died in a blaze of electricity that almost set the forest aflame._

_The voice of my father behind me interrupted my magic and he examined the man critically after my stutter of an explanation, claiming that he would live if I brought him to Brother Merring with speed. He himself took off into the wilderness to investigate the matter of the wolves. How I managed to carry the injured man all the way to Brother Merring, I have no idea. I recall Bevil and some of the boys from the village being on the outskirts that day, so they helped me, but otherwise, it was a trying task. The priest healed the wounds within an instant, claiming that it looked far worse than it was._

_Up till then, I had perceived the man to be human, but my mistake was to be corrected when he opened his eyes. The pupils were golden and the stare far too intense for someone who had just lost several pints of blood. After a few introductory sentences and a summary of what had happened to him, he introduced himself as Euryl, a traveling bard and occasional scribe and chronicler, proven by the small symbol of the god Milil on his forearm. An aasimar, he answered with a smile and words of gratitude to "his savior", as he dubbed me from then on._

_I suppose I need not say that the mothers of West Harbor were quick to try and make him a match with one of their daughters the moment the story spread and it was discovered that Euryl had been on his way to the nearest settlement to rent a horse and return to Waterdeep, where he apparently had family. In two days, the only females within ten miles with no wicked interest in the poor man were Amie and myself, though my friend was prone to little "harmless" comments as to the so-called "looks with deep meaning" I was supposed to be receiving from the bard whenever the opportunity arose._

_The story is brief. Father remained in the woods for weeks; such things often happened, so I was hardly worried. Whether it was because of Amie_'_s scheming or not, Euryl and I became friends. He taught me to play the lute, insisting that the way I handled a bow "signified that my fingers were intended for gentler strings". He encouraged me to begin relearning the Art in father's absence. The progress I made was stunning, even to me. Perhaps the music had touched some long-forgotten part of me the way the hunt never could, I know not. But magic ceased to be a blur and I saw the world through new eyes._

_For the first time in years, I was at peace. I no longer shunned the other villagers as I thought they wanted to shun me. We played and sang at the tavern, even, in the evenings. I felt… happy. I cannot describe it otherwise. And so, I dreaded the day when my friend would heal sufficiently to continue his travels into the city he had been bound for before coming to us. But two months passed and he remained with us. I finally asked him if he was waiting for something and he answered quite calmly (with a quirk of a smile at my stupefied expression) that he was waiting for my father to return so that he might ask him for my hand in marriage. _

_He told me other things, then; most importantly, that he was somewhat wealthier than a mere bard and that he had sufficient friends to get me into the mage's academy in Waterdeep and provide for my education there. If I had harbored doubts based on shock before, they evaporated. Yet I cannot say whether it was actual love that drove me to the decision to give my consent – it was a practical decision as well. I suppose that I wasn't air in the eyes of the male population of West Harbor, but all of the boys there were advised to look for a wife that could take care of the household and crops, above all else, and I, as a member of the militia, a ranger-hunter with elemental powers that could spin out of control and - though not due to prejudice of any kind – as an elf who would outlive such a husband by a matter of centuries was not the first candidate on the list._

_But this way, I could be around people who understood my powers and could help me tame them and direct them, with a man that brought out the best in me – who I knew I could fall in love with, given enough time – and West Harbor would have another "champion" that they could remember with pride, another Cormick who had done something worthwhile with their life._

_As I remain here, writing this short story of my life, I suppose there is no need to say that the events unfolded quite differently. I am neither wife nor arcane scholar; at times, I feel that I have married Neverwinter somewhere along the way, though it wasn't my intention. Nevertheless, the conclusion of my story is short. My father returned. And before he could even hear of the news, I received some information myself. None of what had happened had been pure chance. Nothing ever is. _

_By chance, father had managed to intercept the message sent to Waterdeep that Euryl would be staying longer from the body of a dead courier, who had met his end at the hands – or paws – of the wolf pack. The words on the parchment were still clear, despite the blood all over it: it was intended for the Harpers. Euryl_'_s initial reason for staying was recruitment; he saw that I had the potential to become a valuable member. I overreacted and actually had to be knocked out before losing control over my magic, augmented by anger. Euryl admitted to all when I confronted him about it afterwards, but said that it had not been this goal that caused him to propose to me; and that both offers still stood, independently._

_My father had always allowed me to do as I wished and after I had cooled down, I realized that my anger was a useless sentiment in this case. But this time…I believe that I have never felt as much anger at my father when he rejected my request to give me leave before I even finished it. It certainly was the first time I had yelled at him, the years of suppressed truths and lies and hurt pouring out of me. I wasn't ready then, but I began making certain I would be. I abandoned the wilderness. Father and I barely spoke for an entire year. My aasimar deceiver returned to Waterdeep, but pleaded with me to remember the offers when I would leave my village. Back then, I believe I never though father would allow me to leave West Harbor._

_Ten years later, my magic had returned to me completely. My control over it had been reestablished and enhanced. Brother Merring supported me greatly, along with Retta Starling, and it was thanks to them that I turned my attention to faith as well. I honor human gods, but it was Corellon Larethian whose worshipper I became, thanks to all that I learned about him from Euryl. I was at peace again, though while I lacked nothing, it couldn't be described as happiness. And, finally, a few months before I would leave my home for good, father gave me my mother's sword – called the Singing Sword – as something to master. I have yet to succeed in that endeavor._

_The rest, as humans say, is history._

Grobnar certainly hoped he would remember this story, because he would have to ask Lady Neliel about it, so that he might know if he could compose a song about it. Well, he would compose a song about it anyway, but who was to say it would do it justice? It was even better than the day when Neeshka had won some kind of bet with Lady Neliel regarding dissuading Sir Casavir and Sir Bishop from further arguing and some veiled threats regarding that. the outcome had been a few hours of peace, which meant that Neeshka had won the bet, meaning that Lady Neliel was obliged to take up the task of being "a sword-wielding, swashbuckling, goodie-two-shoes paladin of Tyr for an entire day, dusk till dawn" as the tiefling had put it with a smirk-like grin that completely lived up to her infernal heritage.

And so, for an entire day, Lady Neliel had worn an enchanted scale mail of impressive making intended for the battle that would eventually take place at the keep, the armor glittering in the sunlight, earning herself several clearly well-meant compliments regarding her physique from Sir Bishop, unable to use any kind of arcane magic for the day and compelled to do any and every good deed available. Neeshka had taken special glee in watching Lady Neliel pray, though the elf was actually praying for Tyr's forgiveness for this insanity and strength not to execute punishment for it herself, much as she would like to do so. Kana had been beaming with pride at her captain that day, though to be honest, Lady Neliel had looked rather as if she would like nothing else than join the King of Shadows or destroy the church of Tyr stone by stone – and she made certain to avoid Sir Casavir as much as possible that day.

Or the day when they had delivered that package to Brother Merring back at West Harbor and that kind mayor – or head of the militia, was he? Grobnar would have to ask Lady Neliel that – readily assumed that Sir Bishop was an admirer of hers that had swept her off her feet from some seedy tavern. And then Sir Bishop had retorted that she wasn't even conscious when they were married. Grobnar certainly couldn't remember the last time Lady Neliel had gone so pale before joining in Neeshka´s roaring laughter with a small, nervous laugh of her own. The bard also speculated that this had been some measure of payback for the time when they had been chasing Shandra and Lady Neliel had pretended to give consideration to the githyanki offer of a painless death in return for surrendering Sir Bishop as a "pleasure slave".

Grobnar actually wondered what they had meant by that. Certainly people could be slaves to pleasure, but slaves rarely took pleasure in being slaves, so it seemed rather illogical. Oh, well. Those particular githyanki were not in the state to answer that question for him now, as they had been sent to another plane, permanently.

The entries that followed were of the less interesting kind, because Grobnar could guess events before reading them. Lady Neliel seemed to have a strange relationship with her father, who didn't really strike the bard as the talkative sort. But he really needed to search for that book before someone would come looking for him – and he managed to find it and eventually bring it to the library, only to find out that it wasn't needed after all. But before that, there was only one last code, which Grobnar almost didn't succeed in cracking. This time, he could make out every third word, at most, which was a great compliment to Neliel's development in code-creating.

_Again, I have neglected to write down entries about my no longer mundane life for many a day._

_I have changed. I am changing. I will change. Which of those is true? All, I would say. I am both more and less than I was. This war has changed my perceptions of right and wrong. I am no selfless hero. I fear for my life each day, even though I know that my power grows. My dreams make sense at last, after all these years, but I am not pleased with what I see. With the death of S., the continued appearances of the Shadow Reavers and at last, the reforging of the Sword of Gith, we are ever-closer to finding out where the King of Shadows will appear on this plane. _

_But different troubles plague my mind. I am experiencing unprecedented and unforeseen complications. I have thought myself detached from these feelings, especially because there is no logic in them in these troubling times. Is this love? Possibly. I believe it to be recognition of an internal kind, when the mind cannot understand why the heart and soul recognize something in another. And yet a worse target I could have hardly selected if I tried. I cannot possibly count the reasons why I consider this madness, why it is unfair, why I will never, ever speak of it or act upon it._

_To feel love for one you do not want to love; that is true purgatory. _

_What is worst is that I cannot even say that opposites attract, because there is no such thing as an opposite in this case – only a mirror image. I am a fool, because some part of me doesn't care. The heart, which isn't bound to serve Neverwinter, which doesn't want to understand the concept of duty, yearns for what I cannot do, because of duty, pride and fear of humiliation. Because I cannot abandon my friends and comrade in such a manner – and abandoning it would be._

_I will neither speak of it nor act upon it, but I acknowledge it, otherwise I might lose my concentration on the true goal of this war, which is neither glory nor valor and honor, but survival._

_Then, if I should survive this, I shall decide what course of action I shall take._

It all made perfect sense in the evening, though, when the party returned victorious from their little brawl in Highcliff and the tired Knight-Captain professed her undying love to the roasted chicken she had for dinner.


	8. Confrontations

I hereby present the scene I believe is most missed from NWNII, at least for the female PC. Fangirls will surely agree (wink).

X X X

**Confrontations**

X X X X X

Crossroad Keep was hardly much of a challenge for a practiced thief.

Sure, there was treasure to be found in the vaults, sure, there were some trinkets to be picked off from the newly-rebuild church and the tower of that mage who claimed to have come from Sigil itself, but after all that Nell had done for her, Neeshka felt the slightest bit uncomfortable about stealing from her. Nowadays, Nell herself wasn't the poorest person in Faerun, though she made a point of hiding her general funds from the rest of her party.

But as the sun elf never declined to buy something that was necessary or something that her companions really wanted (if they had the gold for it) even that wasn't reason enough to make Neeshka want to take a trip to the captain's quarters and turn them upside-down. The entire party was now outfitted with new armor and equipment, which was a far cry from the rags and rusty weapons they had come along with. The tiefling herself was now sporting brand-new leather armor that would have made even an arcane trickster envious, a new dagger and a lovely set of potions and thief's tools, not that she had much of a need for them.

Still, life at the keep was peaceful, if boring. At least the tavern was now getting livelier, with that new bard and dancer they had managed to recruit back in Neverwinter. Shame that Nell had explicitly stated that she didn't wish for thieves in her keep – and that if they were to appear, the tiefling would be the prime suspect. Neeshka had grinned, though obviously, Nell had meant what she said.

It was a gradual change; Neeshka had met the she-elf months ago, before the words "King of Shadows" had any kind of meaning for either of them, let alone the capacity to inspire fear. Back then, it had been only her, Nell and Khelgar, who was still as loud and thickheaded (and annoying) as ever. The Terrible Two, Nell had called them at times when they argued a little too pettily, a bit too much. It always succeeded in irking the tiefling, though she always let it go, knowing but never admitting that Nell was partially right.

The Nell she had met had been overly eager to prove her worth, confident about her own ability to reach the top and viewed the new world around her with enthusiastic eyes, even if she was slightly condescending at times if someone couldn't do what she could, prone to fireball death threats when someone acted irresponsibly or when her spell fizzled because someone distracted her and remained wary of changing her rural ways for those of the big city.

Once, Nell had said that her wish was that her actions have true significance.

Nowadays, Nell thrived much less to raise her status – which, now that she was an honorary member of the Neverwinter Nine, was almost impossible – and lost most of her sheer fascination that had once come from exploration. The amount of the threats she truly meant lessened now that a single meaningful look from the poised Knight Captain was enough to silence most. Likewise, she rarely wore wizard robes these days, choosing instead the comfortable armor of the Nine. As her spells no longer had a tendency to fizzle when emotion (usually annoyance) overrode her focus, she could allow herself the slight hindrance of her magic. She had begun to specialize in Evocation, though she continued to study all schools of magic the best she could.

But service to Neverwinter and the threat of death always at her heels had begun to drain Nell of her initial vitality. She had gone from eager mageling to somber knight in about a year and at times, only the will to survive this was keeping her going, Nasher and his city be damned. It was a matter of having greater chances in a keep with lovely high stone walls and an army at her beck and call than alone in the wilderness. It was also one of the reasons that convinced everyone that staying was in their best interests.

Neeshka didn't mind staying, boredom aside. Besides, where would she go if she left? Back to the slums of Neverwinter? Not a chance. Besides, the Watch likely already knew her face, though she had tried to be as invisible as possible while watching Nell's trial in the throne room of Castle Never.

Heck, she had made that little bet with Nell to cheer the elf up, but succeeded only in triggering some annoyance! The wizard needed a break from all of these duties, clearly, hopefully involving some drinks and gold and fun.

The only thing that could be done for fun in the keep itself was playing ghost. Neeshka found it very amusing at times. She'd sneak around and make a soldier or two think they heard footsteps behind them, when in fact she had deliberately broken her stealth only for a moment to allow them to hear it. Today, she wasn't actually searching for victims, but she had to have her half an hour of practice. Not that she needed it, mind you, being the greatest thief in Neverwinter and all that (likewise, she doubted that if the challenge was taking place nowadays, Nell would be as happy to help her with it as she had been back then, annoyance at the appearances of yet a new set of thugs that wanted to kill the tiefling aside) but tarnished skills were of no use to anyone and the tiefling planned to be ready when she needed them.

Sensing steady footsteps of a deliberate, light pace in a corridor a few meters behind her, the tiefling leapt into the shadows, waiting to see who she could avoid or follow this time.

It was Nell – fully clothed in her new Neverwinter Nine tunic, looking somewhat more serious than usual. In fact, Neeshka could almost compare the young elf's expression to what could almost always be seen in Casavir´s eyes; duty and despair. That was wrong; Nell _never_ despaired. Not even when faced with Luskan trickery. She panicked at times, yes, but despair? Never.

The sword on her hip seemed almost too large, due to its unusual shape, its edges sharp like the features of its bearer, who kept a hand on its hilt at times, as if to remind herself that it was there, a part of her, a weapon that only she could wield.

"Wha-?"

The elf couldn't see the movement, but Neeshka certainly saw the hand that had enclosed around Nell's wrist before it did so and yanked the wizard into the shadowy corridor leading to the storage rooms. In the absence of a quartermaster, this part of the keep was mostly deserted.

The moment they were completely out of sight of anyone but Neeshka, who still remained unnoticed, Nell's wrist was released and the elf hissed: "Just what in the Nine Hells do you think you're doing?!"

Elven nightvision kicking in, apparently, Nell was able to recognize her "abductor" before Neeshka did, which was an almost admirable feat in the barely lit corridor. The rogue herself managed to do so a few seconds later, her surprise much more of the "slightly stunned" category than Nell's brief flame of righteous anger. Of course, she probably should have expected it to be Bishop; no one else in the Keep would dare manhandle Nell. And that meant _no one_ – if not due to the fear of the captain's own powers and increasingly steadier sword arm, then because of the consequences either from Kana or either of the two men that were – willingly or not – watching the she-elf's every step.

Besides, no one could make a simple command sound like a very impertinent mocking leer quite like the ranger. "Shut up and listen, _captain._" The man had some nerve – or, in Neeshka's personal not-so-humble opinion, too little sense – because he was practically growling at Nell. Another thing on the list of Things You Don't Do To Neliel Imladris.

And the knight had also noticed that the line had been crossed, because judging by the tone of her voice, her eyes had narrowed dangerously. "In case you haven't noticed, there's a lieutenant meeting about to start and as _captain,_ I have to go there." Usually, Nell's own mockery of someone was on a lighter note. Not now. "I doubt _anything_ you have to say has anything to do with that."

But any kind of attempt to escape after tossing such a response to the ranger was in vain, because Bishop had effectively backed Nell into the wall and grabbed her arm easily when she tried to move past him. Neeshka didn't think it was mere luck; the ranger had been expecting such a reaction. This was no random encounter; somehow, she got the impression that Bishop had this planned, as there was an air of deliberateness about it all.

"You might be surprised." the ranger said then, sounding somewhat more serious. That confirmed Neeshka's hunch – anyone else would have been dodging arrows by now if they replied in such a fashion. And whatever else he might be, the tiefling could admit that Bishop was a precise archer. Now was the time to remain as soundless as possible if she wanted to see what was going on. "But I'd watch that tone of yours, before you turn into another firecracker like our academy bar wench."

Neeshka sensed it – she had learned to do so, being a prime target of Nell's occasional fits of annoyance – the moment when Nell carefully considered whether or not she would be forced to resort to violence. But in this care, it seemed to be a very easy decision. Nothing short of killing would likely stop Bishop, and even that was just a theory. Besides, if she wanted to maintain peace in the keep, there was little she could do other than verbal sparring. But Nell, in her slight gloom, seemed to discard that option quickly.

The hidden tiefling found that unnerving. Neliel Imladris, backing off from a verbal duel – with Bishop, whom she could likely best in her sleep in a duel of words – was unheard of.

"Fine, just… just make it quick, will you?" the sun elf almost sighed.

It was a profound victory and Neeshka was positively certain that the ranger saw it. "Look, war's gonna hit this place soon and hard." he said firmly, but it seemed just the beginning of a speech he had prepared. Neeshka wasn't certain what was more unlikely – Nell backing down from a verbal duel or Bishop weighing words. The only certainty was that she intended to listen to this, no matter what.

"What an eloquently put observation." Though she used more complex words, it was a bit unnerving to hear just how close Nell's tone was to Bishop's usual mocking drawl. What the intention behind that was, Neeshka couldn't guess. "Anything else I haven't known since forever?" she made another move to sidestep him, only to be halted again.

The ranger's eyes flashed dangerously, a look that would have made anyone saner than Khelgar back away slowly, but whatever venom he had to spit out, he swallowed it. If that wasn't a sign that this was going to be a question and Nell's answer mattered greatly, Neeshka didn't know what was.

"I can guide us out of here. just you and me, that's what I'm saying." Comprehension drawled across Nell's partly illuminated face. The hidden tiefling was practically frozen now. Now she had seen - heard - everything. That tone... he was _imploring_ Nell to go. Gods help them, now it was serious. "We'll be miles away before you're even missed."

Neeshka herself was almost petrified. At first, she had been only mildly shocked that the grip of the ranger's hands on both Nell's forearms (to prevent her from even trying to get away this time) seemed rather gentler than one would expect from Bishop (though she was pretty sure that if he were consciously aware of the fact, he would correct that mistake immediately), but now, watching that _scum_ try to convince Nell to abandon the keep – to elope with _him_… not that the tiefling thought even for a moment that Nell, one of the most sensible people she knew, would do such a thing with _Bishop_, of all people, but still…

It was an unnerving image. Almost as unnerving as the conviction in the ranger's voice.

And the worst thing was that Neeshka knew he spoke the truth: Nell, too, wasn't a complete novice when it came to scouting paths through the wilderness, and it had always been Bishop who got their group through the worst of marshes and forests. Without a large group trailing behind them, if only the two of them were to leave with a head start…

If they didn't want to be found, not even all of the armies of Neverwinter would be able to locate them before it was too late.

"To run away on the eve of battle?" The tiefling felt fear stab into her momentarily. She had expected Nell to reject it in some witty mockery of his words; instead, she was only repeating the meaning of them, but not entirely contemptuously. She seemed to be weighing the possibilities of such an escape. It did nothing to calm Neeshka. "Throw everything away?"

But the ranger had no patience for it. Neeshka understood things now. He was saying that they were to leave right away. This really was a planned thing!

"Ah, Neliel, cut the crap." Bishop said roughly, mercilessly, looking the elf right in the eyes. "We both know you hang the halo when it suits you. Besides, all you'd abandon is a doomed fort and a bunch of worthless fools. You know I'm right." The worst thing was, he was certain of it; and not without reason. Nell, for all her goodness, had a tendency to be pragmatic about things. Unless there was a reward for her trouble or the situation of a person truly brought out pity in her (which was far more difficult than it sounded) she was unlikely to aid someone just out of the goodness of her heart.

The prime example of that had been during Shandra's kidnapping by the githyanki. Nell back then was entirely unlike what she was normally. She had been cold, calculating, not even sparing the dead of Ember a look, much less pitying that girl, Alaine, her name was, when she had surfaced from the wreckage. At Neeshka's urging, she had aided the "heist of the century"; out of annoyance at the distinct unhelpfulness of the mage's academy, she had released several crates of imps.

There was a potential for danger in Neliel, whether she herself realized it or not.

Bishop obviously saw it. Perhaps that had triggered his uncanny interest in the she-elf; Neeshka didn't really see what else he might find… stimulating in a woman who practically exemplified everything he hated.

"They do say rats flee the sinking ship first." Nell remarked, putting Neeshka at ease a bit – her tone was sharp again, normal.

She didn't see whether Bishop sneered or growled at that, though his reply seemed a mixture of both. "You need to learn better insults, girl."

"That doesn't make it any less true." Nell said adamantly. It seemed that she was finally realizing that she was still trapped and that the insistent eyes of the ranger were too close for her liking; Neeshka saw her tense.

"So what does that make _you_, then, little elf?" Whether it was the slight tremor of tension that triggered the taunt or not, but Bishop didn't appear to be swayed in the least. Quite the contrary, it seemed, because anyone else would have met the wrong end of a fireball at the use of such a nickname. And the tiefling really wondered why Nell hadn't used a spell or two the first time she had been grabbed - it would cause no permanent damage if she took care. "Certainly not the _dove_ the paladin sees you as."

"That has nothing to do with this or with us."

It was a slip, a wrong move. "So it's "us", now?" Bishop's sneer was back in place, wider and brighter than ever. Triumphant, even. Nell seemed to pale. "See, this is what I'm talking about. You're smarter than the rabble you're letting cling to your ankles. Kick them off while there's still tile – or, better yet, let me do it."

Now that she thought about it, if she chucked a dagger at him now, there was a chance that she could stab the insufferable idiot, Neeshka wondered. She had wanted to do this before, of course, but never had the thought been so vicious. I mean, _rabble clinging to her ankles? _That was _low,_ even for him.

"So you can ditch me in the wilderness once you get tired of me?" At least Nell hadn't yet lost control of her logic, though her subconscious slip had been very untimely. "Despite my being passionately in love with you, that seems just a bit below my intellectual level."

"You'd survive." He wasn't even denying it; it would have been a greater lie to try. But such words were great praise from Bishop, who never complimented anyone or anything. He clearly really wanted Nell to go through with this. "And ask yourself what's more likely: this keep falling or death in the wild?"

"Tell me one thing. If you're so eager to turn tail and run, why are you wasting time with me?" Neeshka wondered that too, actually. Of course she knew that Bishop had an interest in Nell – that was common knowledge – but then again, Bishop had an interest in anything with two legs and any hint of breasts, apparently. Nevertheless, it was highly doubtful that any other female keep was about to receive this once-in-a-lifetime kind of offer.

"Am I wasting time?" The ranger drawled vaguely, dodging the question by turning it against her. that was never a good sign. "You seem to be playing for time yourself."

"I'm only curious. But I guess I was just imagining things." the captain shook her head, as if purging an inane thought. It made Neeshka wonder what exactly she believed to have imagined. "You are too… yourself to be anything else." Again, she tried to get away, but the grip of the ranger's hands seemed to tighten. Either it was not the answer he intended to take or he, too, wanted Nell to explain that remark. But this time, the sun elf looked him in the eyes, hard. A warning. "Let go, Bishop. You knew my answer before the question even came to your mind."

Something in her eyes had an effect on the ranger, who released her with a slight shove, which had no effect, her being backed up against the wall. It seemed more as if he wanted to tear at the fabric of her sleeves in anger, but refused himself such a lapse of control. Instead, he gave a half-snort, looking at her with some contempt.

"Thought as much. You've grown too fond of being in charge of people. Now they'll pay you back by dragging you down and drown you in the ocean of this war. You could have made it out on your own." Bishop and metaphors? Something was seriously wrong.

"To flee forever like a criminal? To never know when death by the hand of a Shadow Reaper might come for me?" Nell repeated, shaking her head again with stranger resolution. "I'm living on borrowed time already. I won't throw all I've suffered away for more pain."

"Seems like someone has enjoyed their one day as a paladin a little too much. You're already acting like a bloody martyr." It should have been a mocking sneer, his expression, but there was a raw anger in it that Bishop couldn't deny. His frustration at Nell's behavior was only magnified by his obvious hatred of the very word "paladin".

"This isn't about martyrdom. It's about paying back debts."

At the mention of debts, venom crept into the ranger's glance, but only for a moment, and it wasn't an anger that the she-elf had provoked. It was an older hatred, deep, rooted even deeper. "What has Neverwinter ever done for you, _Knight_-Captain?"

"Not Neverwinter." Nell denied. "I'm paying back the King of Shadows. He made me what I am. Everyone has to answer for their mistakes one day."

That response succeeded in stunning even Bishop into speechless silence for a few blessed seconds before he glared at the captain, but there was only the slightest touch of a kind of sadistic glee in the glance. "You're mad, Neliel."

"Undoubtedly." Nell nodded without missing a beat, unblinkingly staring up at him from her lesser height. "I was half a mind to accept the first time you made this offer."

Silence. Neeshka almost broke her stealth on accident, so great was her shock. Fortunately, neither of the pair seemed to notice. Perhaps only Bishop was aware of them being much too close for comfort, as Nell's full will was obviously focused on maintaining her steadfast view on the matter.

The _first_ time?! What _first time?! _When? And the worst thing was that she wouldn't even be able to interrogate Nell about this, as _no one was supposed to know this_, most likely.

Strangely, though, the ranger didn't take advantage of those facts. Instead, he truly released her this time, stalking off into the shadows of the corridor. "Come see me when you come back to your senses."

"You mean you're staying?" Nell called after him with distinct surprise. She had been expecting this to be a one-time offer.

Obviously, it was not, because Bishop took the time to stop and flash the captain another of his collection of leers fashioned precisely for such occasions. "There's plenty of ways to show your gratitude, captain. And who knows? Maybe that's the last bit of convincing you need."

"In your dreams, Bishop." Nell firmly proclaimed, accenting each word.

"And such good dreams they are, too."

It was only after the ranger had vanished in the shadows and Nell walked past her - presumably to the meeting - that Neeshka noticed something. The elf had a heavier walk now than her usual near-floating, as if another keep had fallen on her shoulders. Or as if she had passed some kind of trial through serious self-suppression. And Neeshka really, _really_ hoped that it was the torchlight playing tricks on her senses, because Nell had decidedly _not_ blinked back something that looked suspiciously like angry tears.


	9. Midnight Sun

My take on the infamous romance scene. _Fear the angst!_ Yikes! I hope it's good – I really wanted it to be realistic and good! If I altered the canon dialogue a bit, do forgive me – I accidentally deleted a few of my NWN2 saves a few days ago, so I haven't had a chance to listen to the transcript of that particular scene and wanted this chapter out.

**Love it? Hate it? ****Please review!**

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**Midnight Sun**

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If someone would have asked Casavir exactly why he loved the Knight-Captain of Crossroad Keep, the answer would have been very difficult.

There were many things to admire about Neliel Imladris, but from the point of view of an outsider, she was certainly a difficult person to love in the romantic sense of the word. She was a wizard who strove for being the best she could at arcane magic and who sacrificed many an hour for that goal. Unwillingly, she had been diverted from that goal and had risen from peasant to the highest order of knights within the realm within such a short time that it was almost alarming.

When he had first met her, it had hardly been a love-at-first-sight experience. That had been back in the Sword Mountains, when he and his troops were about to destroy an orc raiding party. The odds were heavily in their favor, as it was an ambush. Only when sparks of lightning and fireballs had begun to fly around them did he realize that someone else was to have been ambushed by those orcs, someone who stood just out of reach of their enemies, behind a small group of a wide selection of races and personalities.

Neliel had been hooded and cloaked back then and only when she first spoke and raised her face did the pale moonlight reveal her true countenance. Back then, he hadn't thought of her as beautiful, due to the nature of the circumstances and what lay ahead for them. But even then, she had been impressive in calmly announcing that they had had things under control, despite thanking him for the assistance. She had held the command of her small group without perhaps even realizing it and even he, who had directed dozens of men against battalions of orcs, allowed himself to be led by the petite sun elf.

It had proven a most fortunate decision on his part. While she wasn't at all well-versed in the details of warfare and strategy, Neliel had the presence to drive their group onwards, even some measure of power over the fire sorceress, who scoffed at Neliel and her powers, but obeyed nonetheless. It had been when they had slain Logram and rescued the emissary that he had begun to respect the sun elf, especially because she had almost openly cringed at the sight of possible practices of necromancy.

In the archives of Neverwinter, he had the chance to see her extensive knowledge, which even impressed the gnome bard, Grobnar, despite having learned that she was a farmer from the Mere originally. That news had almost stunned the paladin. Up till then, he had readily assumed that the Watch had enlisted the aid of one of the Many-Starred Cloaks' mages for this endeavor. It was nearly impossible to imagine anything else – equally impossible was that it had all been just an act. Neliel carried herself like one who was aware of her own power, yet at the same time, she was content to fade into the background with nothing but a stack of books as her companion.

And Casavir was beginning to realize just how alone Neliel likely felt. He had been filled in on the story behind her arrival to Neverwinter and approved of the decisions she had made, especially given the circumstances. And again, he found himself admiring her strength of will, her ability to make the right choice. She didn't always act selflessly, true; it was probably selfish to expect her to ignore her own needs. Gods only knew that she wouldn't have likely been able to even afford food in the city with the meager funds she had brought with her initially.

It was how she had rescued Shandra Jerro from the clutches of the githyanki that had truly stunned him. The moment it had been announced that their newest addition to the group was gone, something in the normally cordial sun elf changed. Actually, from the moment Bishop had joined them, something was different. It was the coldest any of the group had ever seen Neliel act; she hadn't spared the dead of Ember a thought. Instead, ignoring Alaine and her gratitude, she had stalked ahead, only to call the ranger to her side to help her decipher some tracks she seemed to be having problems with.

To this day, the paladin wasn't quite certain what Bishop's exact intentions were when Neliel was concerned. He lusted after the she-elf, yes, but there was a strange look in his usually contemptuous eyes whenever she spoke or whenever his gaze rested on her. And though at times he used the word "wench" when referring to her, the ranger never used the offensive expression when Neliel was within earshot. As for Neliel, she was being far too gracious in indulging him with a conversation once in a while, even though it mostly involved her parrying Bishop's sneering or suggestive words.

They had a strange relationship and as the weeks passed, Casavir became increasingly aware that it bothered him. He worried for Neliel's safety when around the man, despite knowing that nowadays, she could likely melt him down before he even laid one hand on her. And there was a measure of concern that even chivalrous intentions and camaraderie alone couldn't achieve. Perhaps it was then that he realized that he cared for the sun elf beyond simple concerns for her safety; through jealousy, one's eyes could be opened.

He had striven to avoid such sentiments, partly because he still remembered how well jealousy had served him the last time he succumbed to its pull. Manslaughter and the breach of an oath that he had considered sacred; all for the sake of a woman he had loved. Nowadays, it seemed shallow and distant, the emotion he had once held for Ophala, in a sense, reflecting the woman it had been intended for. And what he felt for Neliel was… it was difficult to describe it, to encase the meaning in a single word or two.

Besides, there were unlikely to be two more different women in the world. Whereas Ophala was a human woman nearing her "best years", with practiced gestures and a regal elegance gained by years of expertise, always assessing the value of something before offering compensation, Neliel, not even an adult by the standards of the elves, cared very little for the finer aesthetics of her appearance, as long as she was modestly dressed and her clothing practical. She possessed no court lady-like bearing, but her natural elven litheness and the way she almost seemed to float when in a casual stride outmatched the greatest of learned charms.

Her profession made it difficult for them to speak. Casavir knew very little about arcane magic and didn't have a sufficient mastery of words to allow him to overcome that fact through mere diplomacy. Of course Neliel had tried to speak with him as with all the others and befriend him, or at least make him feel more welcome, but later on lost interest in attempting to do so over and over again when Casavir barely said anything about himself, let alone the reasons why he had been at Old Owl Well in the first place.

Instead of speaking to her, he preferred to watch her. But in all such cases, there came a moment when observation from afar was not enough. That moment had come at Crossroad Keep, months after their first meeting, when Neliel, Khelgar, Elanee and Zhjaeve returned from their attempt to sink the bridges leading to the keep, exhausted and dirty, but otherwise unharmed.

Covered in magical soot, her hair almost loose from its binding clasps and her clothing sprayed with blood, Neliel had never appeared so beautiful. She was alive, living, breathing, and her expression was one of determination, not despair as she exchanged brief words with her foster father and her second-in-command. Casavir couldn't help but feel a sudden rush of joy, of warmth, of love.

She had left so suddenly and he had still not managed to express his feelings to her. The thought of her dying was unimaginable, but he had decided to waste no more time. His own demise could come before the day was over and Neliel deserved to know – or rather, to hear it from him, not to come to the conclusion herself.

The sun elf raised her eyebrows in slight surprise when he asked to speak with her alone. She agreed, only asked for a few minutes to wipe her sword and armor. When she met him atop the battlements, the armies of the undead were nowhere to be seen in the darkness. Neliel was once more dressed in her Eldritch Knight armor, the same she had worn before becoming one of the Neverwinter Nine. Her hair was brushed back into her usual braid.

It took this sight to remind him that while many would frown upon a betrayer of Neverwinter proclaiming his love to the champion of the very same city – should they both survive, a grim thought reminded him – behind the insignia of the Nine was still the very same woman he had encountered at Old Owl Well.

She didn't speak first and Casavir was grateful for that. In any case, her expression was neutral, if slightly curious. _You asked, so I came_, it seemed to say.

It was a warm night, signifying the end of spring and the arrival of summer. But it was late and the moon had risen in its full glory, a thousand stars shining down on the lonely Crossroad Keep. Still, there was a chill in the air, a terrible silence stretching across the land. A shadow.

"There is death in the air tonight." the paladin said, glancing beyond the horizon, as if searching for the army they all knew lurked out there, somewhere.

"That's hardly surprising, considering the amount of undead in the army of the enemy." Casavir blinked slightly. That had been a joke of some sort, clearly, but he couldn't claim to understand Neliel's sense of humor. She didn't baffle him with this as much as Sand did, perhaps, but it was still strange to see the momentary disappointment in her face when she realized he hadn't understood. "I'm sorry, that was an unsuitable jest. But you have to laugh to keep from crying, I suppose. Death follows me at every turn."

She seemed to sigh without making a sound. At one time, her face had been full of dread at the thought of dying, but today, when she spoke of it, there was the hint of weary acceptance in her. Neliel was ready to face death now, if her sacrifice would make a difference.

But Casavir wondered if there was anything that would be worth such a sacrifice. The sun elf wouldn't throw her life away for the sake of a few bard songs in her favor, but nowadays, even the possibility that saving Neverwinter was more important than her life was less and less likely in Casavir's eyes. Cities like Neverwinter would rise and fall and be forgotten over the course of the ages. But heroes, true heroes, would remain in the minds of the people for times eternal, because they were a rare treasure.

Neliel was one such hero.

"I am here with you and know that such things hold no sway in your presence." The wizard gave a weary smile, but her gaze remained directed towards the forests beyond the keep. "I… wanted to thank you. Through your influence, I have managed to regain a measure of peace that I believed lost to me." Casavir continued, taking note of how easily the elf's smile transformed into a mild frown.

"Peace? That word has been foreign to me since all this has started." She spoke of it with such ease, it was almost frightening. In a way, she had accepted a soldier's life, even though it was completely foreign to her, more so than the word she had claimed to find alien. During times of peace, she would have been able to lead a life among the finest mages Neverwinter had to offer, but then, her existence and powers would never make such an impact. "I suppose you're welcome, but I assure you that any newfound calm likely has little to do with me."

"No, Neliel." How wrong she was. Their group, though generally friendly, was held together by a single binding – her. Without her, they would fall apart within an instant. Without her, none of the people she led would have ever even met. "It has everything to do with you. The people here have found their leader. You've given them hope. But you've given me hope for something more than simple survival. When you are with me, I feel nothing can stand against us."

"Casavir…" Finally, she looked at him, still frowning, her tone careful, a slight warning. She seemed to understand now.

But she still had to hear it. It was important. "Please allow me to say it." Casavir said softly and for once, silenced the otherwise verbose Knight-Captain. "My sword has always been yours, Neliel Imladris… but you now hold my heart as well." It was a pledge, a vow, an oath. That he would protect her and love her with unwavering conviction.

He was only human, not an elf; he couldn't understand that even if you force a child to destroy and learn and kill – and, by elven standards, Neliel was a child still – you cannot force a child to bind themselves to something.

Neliel had grown up in the past months as if they had been a century, relinquished many of her naïve ideals and understood the world better than those who claimed to have the wisdom of age might. She was, by all means, a grown, even somewhat jaded woman now, not a naïve farm girl who thought that the world was waiting just to welcome her with open arms. And she felt love, yes, a flame comparable to that of Qara's wild surges of magic. But while the farm girl would have embraced it hungrily, the woman knew that fire could burn just as easily as it could warm.

And there was so much more of the world to see… and she wanted to live! To live her own life, not bound to what she didn't choose, not bearing the title of a widow for the centuries that would come. What she felt for the paladin was sympathy, pity… and guilt over not being able to return a feeling. Nothing more. Not enough to give her reason to bind herself to a human she could learn to love, only to see him wilt and die within a century.

She had a greater concept of time now, after all the war she had seen. And after all the death she had been forced to go through, perhaps even her extremely long lifespan wouldn't be enough for her to live as much as she wanted – needed – to.

He had said he loved her.

Neliel blinked, and then froze, resembling more the painting of her in the green dress that the gnome artist from Blacklake had sent to the keep as his own way of thanking her weeks ago than her true self. There were few things that could render the jaded wizard speechless nowadays; not even an ancient undead talking dragon spirit had succeeded in doing so – it had been her wordplay back then that had gotten them out of that predicament. This time, however, Neliel was stunned for several long seconds, before turning away to observe the landscape beyond the stone railings.

"I… I'm not certain how to answer you." the sun elf said after a moment of thinking. Anxiety was radiating from her and her voice was almost mellow. It hurt somewhat, but then again, Casavir realized that he hadn't exactly been expecting her to say that she loved him outright. He could have hoped for such words, but it was an improbable outcome with Neliel. But this was indeed the first time ever since he had met her that the sun elf seemed to be truly unable to find the correct words.

"Milady," The elf blinked once more at such a new form of address. "I cannot ask more of you than honesty." Somehow, Neliel looked even less reassured at that.

Then… "I don't love you." she said with simplicity. As even Casavir had been able to foresee this reaction, it didn't hurt as much as it could have. "I'm very sorry." Neliel added, finally looking back at the paladin anxiously.

But how could she apologize for honesty? A lie might have been more comforting in these moments of battle, when it was almost certain that they would perish within hours, but Casavir himself had always been against the small lies Neliel – or anyone in their group – utilized to solve a situation.

"It doesn't matter." he began to say. He intended – wanted – to tell her that she was a vessel of strength for him and everyone else nonetheless. She wouldn't likely appreciate being told once again that he loved her, as she had clearly fidgeted at not being able to answer in the way he would wish. Truths were better omitted entirely than altered.

"No, it matters." Neliel interjected, some of her customary firmness back in place. She took a deep breath, calmer now, more like the woman he loved. "It matters to me that I tell you why." Her having an actual reason – or a list of reasons – prepared hurt a bit more. "You're a good man, Casavir; given enough time, I suppose I could love you. But there is no time. The likeliest outcome of this war is my death."

"There is no one among those who follow you who would believe such a thing." the paladin interjected, as Neliel seemed to take a slight pause. "They follow you because you are a leader; but also because they know that your power is enough to challenge the King of Shadows. You mustn't doubt yourself."

"Enough to challenge, yes. Enough to defeat? Perhaps." Neliel's voice was a bit dry. "My point is, I have never had less time for romance than I do today. But the fault also lies with you, Casavir." That puzzled him somewhat, but fortunately, Neliel proceeded to explain. "I hardly know anything about you."

"I have always been at your full disposal, milady." Casavir said softly, his voice deep. Her words hurt in the way only the truth could and her conviction in her own truth was striking.

She could have been a great servant of the gods, if she had not chosen to worship one of the elven deities.

"That is not what I meant." Again, Nell seemed to fidget a bit at being addressed as a noble rightly should be. "We hardly ever speak. I have tried my best to treat you as cordially as the others, but it is impossible if you only deign to speak with me to warn me about Bishop."

"Milady… Neliel… I mean no disrespect, but I still believe that you are too trusting around that man." Not once did it cross his mind that Neliel might have any kind of feelings for the ranger, or vice versa. The captain was a good person to the core of her being, despite occasional evidence to the contrary and Bishop hardly struck one as the kind of man that might be interested in anything else besides a physical relationship.

The wizard frowned, her eyes a bit sharper. But for a split-second, she seemed to be on the verge of wincing, even though she hadn't moved a muscle. "I am not naïve enough to put my trust in Bishop. Nor am I foolish enough to disregard the fact that he has been an asset to me for a while now."

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to…" He didn't even know how to finish his own sentence. But he was sorry for a great many things, not least of all bringing her discomfort.

It was almost fortunate that she had cut him off. "I know all about your opinions regarding him and vice versa. But I am captain of this keep before all else. And as captain, I have need of both of you, whatever personal disputes you might have."

"It isn't my place to question your leadership." The words Bishop had spoken some time ago came back to him – a paladin wasn't supposed to question their lord. How ironic that he would repeat them, in such a manner, a weak echo of the mocking remark they had been. "I understand your decision, even if I don't approve."

"I know." Neliel said, and for a moment, she looked sad. "Which is another reason why I cannot love you." Strange how quickly "don't" had changed into "cannot".

Casavir's expression hardened somewhat, though it wasn't from anger or resentment. He should appreciate her taking the time to tell him of her thoughts and feelings instead of giving a flat refusal. But reprimanding himself didn't lessen the dull pain. "I'm afraid I don't understand your meaning."

"You always defer to me. You obey without question. As an officer, I can appreciate that. But submission is not the basis for a relationship of any other kind." Neliel explained patiently, but a trace of a sigh escaped her lips.

He didn't quite understand that. What good did fights serve? The outcome would be clear before an argument between them could begin; Neliel always had the words he himself lacked. But she calmly listened to his somber advice whenever he gave it, even if she then disregarded it. But she always explained herself to him afterwards. And her reasoning was always flawless.

"I trust you to make the right judgment. Unless I feel you are mistaken, why should I undermine your conviction?"

"That isn't what I…" Drawing a deep breath, Neliel sighed, resigning herself to look at the night sky once more. "Casavir," she began again, her gaze hard as she looked back at the waiting paladin. Apparently, she had found the correct words at long last. "If you do not question me, how can you get to know me? And if you do not know me, how can you claim to love me?"

"I know you." Casavir said, without even thinking on his words for a single moment.

A golden eyebrow rose in delicate doubt. "Do you?"

"You are the hope of an entire city. A powerful wizard, a responsible captain and an increasingly better fencer." The truth. Only the truth. "There is much good in you, milady; it is very easy to love you." Countless others loved her, looked up to her, depended on her, even if she might not realize it. How could he not love the only source of goodness in these troubling times? The first person to show him kindness after he had deserted his city, his duty, the woman he thought he had loved?

If there was anything he wanted to protect Neliel from, it was her own uncertainty, the weigh of the souls that clung to her for leadership. Even her strength wasn't immeasurable. And the sun elf had no one close enough to her to trust not to judge her if she laid down the mask of the leader. Her father was distant and her friends not nearly close enough.

She needed a shield against the world, for she was the sword.

Neliel gave another weary smile, as if he had just proven her point. "You don't see it, do you? You are repeating the now-stuck epithets of the hero of Neverwinter. What do you know about _me_?" she asked," What do I enjoy doing? What were the names of my childhood friends, my mother? What are my plans for the future?" The bombardment of questions was met with silence. Casavir knew some of the answers, but mostly only the facts that anyone else could say. "You don't even know what my favorite color is."

He didn't.

"Such things tell little about your true nature." But it was a lie; a weak lie, a defensive lie. He was beginning to see that there was truth in what she was saying, but he didn't want to see it.

"But they define who I am. I will say it for you, Casavir. You know about as much about me as I do of you. Which is to say, very little." Neliel said calmly, but hardly mercifully. Her renowned mercy was gone. She was now as trained a killer as there likely was, in debate as well as on the battlefield. "Certainly not enough for love, not for me. In fact, I think you don't really love me."

That blow had struck harder than all of them.

"Neliel…" But a thought that came with a stab of fear made him amend his response. "You needn't answer me, but if… if you love another, you need only tell me, milady." It would destroy him, this answer, he knew, but he needed it greatly.

A pause, a memory passing through her face. Her features seemed to soften, but only momentarily; then, there was much bitterness to her words. "There was someone, years ago. I believed I loved him because he was a means of escaping my uneventful existence. It didn't work out. Perhaps it was for the best. Likewise, Casavir, I believe you love the ideal of goodness that I now represent in your eyes. The hero, not the person."

But it was a lie, or simply a point of view. Perhaps she was a stranger, a perfect stranger, strangely perfect, perfectly strange, but she still was Neliel, the one with kind words, a good heart, a belief in what was right. It was the woman he loved and Casavir refused to believe that he had merely invented that person, not when she stood before him. "Neliel, I do not expect you to return my feelings, but I cannot deny their presence. Please do not doubt their authenticity."

"That I don't. But would you still love me if I was only a regular member of the City Watch, without all the deeds to my name?" Neliel speculated, silence her only answer. But her eyes were kind now; she had made her point. And Casavir realized that she was saying these things not only because she believed them to be true, but because she wished to spare him any more pain. "I don't expect an answer. I only ask that you answer the question to yourself."

And when she was gone, the sun vanishing out of the night, the stars seemed to shine the brighter, a thousand words unsaid, a thousand tears unshed, before the darkness would divide them forever.


End file.
